


Desire

by TheWolves24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Passion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolves24/pseuds/TheWolves24
Summary: This was madness, it was sick, it was...wrong. He couldn't stop the dreams from coming though, they haunted him, not only in the sleeping hour, but the waking hour as well. For that's all she was... A haunting.My own take on the Jon/Sansa relationship, starts in episode one of season seven. Just my take on what happens...





	1. Chapter 1

Desire: Chapter 1

 

"Jon!" She snapped at him, whipping him out of his thoughts. Shaking his head he looked upon her face, noticing her blue eyes were staring into his brown ones. 

"Aye. I-I apologize Sansa, my mind was elsewhere." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Are you purposely ignoring me?" She asked, sighing, plopping herself in the chair across from his own. 

He shook his head, now rubbing his temples. 

"No. I'm just a bit tired is all." He told her, well, it really wasn't a lie. 

It was the truth.

Well, as much truth as his pride would allow him to provide her.

In all honesty, he hadn't been sleeping well at all. 

And it was all her fault.

Silence.

"Would you like to postpone this conversation then?" She asked after looking him over, her blue eyes noticing the dark bags starting to pop up underneath his eyes. 

Jon glanced at her, hearing annoyance in her tone.

Sighing himself, he stood up, plucking up his cup of ale, bringing the goblet up to his lips, taking a huge gulp.

"Sansa. _Please_. Must we argue this? I've told you repeatedly that we cannot throw the sins of the fathers on their children."

He heard her move up from her chair, sensing her anger rise with every second. 

"And is that how you plan to deal with all of your enemies, _Your Grace_?"

He didn't appreciate her snide comment, or the little ignorant quip at the end. 

"Do not mock me." He snarled at her, glaring into her heated face now. "It's not very becoming of you Sansa."

"And don't you dare talk to me like I'm some kind of petulant child that you can lord yourself over!" She threw at him, her teeth gnarled together, "If memory serves me correctly, I  _assisted_ you in getting our home back from those bastard Boltons. Or have you forgotten?"

Jon gripped his cup, feeling his cheeks flame with aggravation.

Silence.

He was tired of having this damn argument with her.

He was just...tired.

Damnit.

"Sansa. The case is closed. The Karstark girl will be married off to one of my most trusted Free Folk advisers. The boy himself is going to be promised to another when he is a bit older. Why is that not enough for you?"

She clenched her fists, glaring at him harder now.

"It's not enough because the Karstarks got Rickon murdered, they didn't notch the arrow, but they may as well have raised the damn bow! They  _sold_ him off like he was a sack of goods, Jon! And now, you want to reward their children with promises of matrimony?!"

He slammed his goblet down again, gripping the mantle place. "I will not kill them, I will not rip their lands out from underneath them Sansa. I will not make them account for something they had no control over! Now, if you please, I would like to get some semblance of sleep."

At that, he walked past her, moving to stand beside his bed. 

Sansa scowled at him, whipping her red tresses over her shoulder. She gripped the latch of the door, flinging it open, not bothering to shut it behind her.

Jon sighed, closing his eyes.

Gods, she was stubborn.

They had been fighting over this for days now. She was absolutely affronted when he first let her into his plan. She didn't think it was harsh enough for them. 

Jon didn't agree with her of course, this had led to a big blow out. 

He was kind of grateful though, she always waited to fight with him when they were in private.

Walking over to his door, he slammed it a little roughly, not caring who heard the noise.

Shedding his clothing after, he laid down, pushing his arms behind his head, trying to zone everything around him out.

Truth be told..

It wasn't the fighting that got to him. Well, it was, but, that wasn't the _brunt_ of what his troubles were.

It was the dreams that haunted him.

When they first took Winterfell back, it was a joyous time. The two of them had been around each other so much that they were basically glued at the hip. 

After while, he started to have conflicting dreams about Sansa. And they weren't dreams of an innocent nature either. 

They were laced with emotions he couldn't comprehend, and wracked with inappropriate actions against the woman who he called his sister.

Seven hells, he might as well be Jamie Lannister.

The thought sickened him, making him roll to his side with the uncomfortable pulling in his loins when an image of his previous nights dreams surfaced. 

It was wrong.

Gods, he knew that. But, no matter what he did, no matter what he told himself they just kept coming.

Every night.

And, Seven save him, he could not stop his hand sometimes when it traveled down his navel and wrapped itself around his hard cock.

He was disgusted with himself. And that in itself was leading to tense moments between he and her. 

Jon tried to distance himself, tried not to stare at her as she sewed another cloak or outfit for herself or him. He tried not to watch as she read tome after tome, or hummed quietly when Ghost lay at her side. Then, there were moments when she would descend to the Godswood and just sit on the bench that father had preoccupied so often.

And her hair..

Damnit, he tried not to think about the thatch of red hair that probably lay between her thighs. 

He felt the familiar stirring again, making him groan with humiliation.

He was disgusting.

Disturbing.

_Wrong._

He thought of all these things as his hand gripped his male appendage, starting to stroke now.

It didn't take long. It never did when he thought of the dreams that never let him be anymore. 

After his release, his chest heaving, he cleaned himself with a discarded rag. 

What was he going to do?

How would he rid himself of this problem?

 

Review!

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jons shame.

"Everything alright?" Tormund asked the darker haired man. 

Jon was sitting with him at the table in the counsel room, talking about the numerous lands that could be handed over to the Free Folk. At the question, Jon shook his head, sliding a nervous glance up to his friend.

"No. Apologies. I've been lost these last few days. The stresses of being King one would say..," he mumbled, mirth in his tone.

Tormund cracked a lop sided grin. 

"Sounds like the crow needs his cock sucked. You don't have vows anymore man, you can relieve some tension now. I'm sure there are some happy to spread their legs for you."

Jon just smirked, standing up from his chair.

Maybe that's what he needed. He really hadn't done anything with anyone other than Ygritte, and she had been long dead for awhile now. 

It was just...

It always seemed like a disgrace to her memory. After everything they had been through together, after everything that had happened..

She died anyway.

And now, he was left here, given a title of :King:, moving to march off to war any day now, maybe never to return. The irony hit his stomach with a cold thud and he sighed, shaking lose the thoughts of the past, only sent to torment him.

"Wintertown has a little brothel." Tormund told him, setting his pint of bitter goats milk down, "Not the best place, but it'll do for a quickie."

Jon turned towards him, raising an eyebrow, "I honestly have no need. The spacing out is due from a lack of  _sleep_ , not a lack of crawling between someone's legs."

_Liar._

He squashed that small, taunting voice, grabbing his own pint of ale.

Tormund just looked him over, shrugging his shoulders.

"Have you and your sister come to a decision on the Karstark girl?"

Jon nodded thickly, sitting down again.

"Aye. I have not wavered. Sansa thinks me a fool for letting them off easily."

Tormund chuckled, downing his drink. "Stubborn lass that one, definitely the epitome of the word, 'kissed by fire.'"

Jon felt a turning in his gut, shame making its way to the surface again. He would never say it to his friend, in fear of probably getting a good knock across the jaw, but he wanted to tell him about his dreams. 

He wanted to tell  _somebody._

And yet, he couldn't.

They would look at him like he was some kind of demented pervert.

And hell, maybe he was.

Ever since he had come back from the dead, things hadn't...fit for him. Such as the beating with Ramsay, he never felt himself lose so much control before. When he finally managed to pull himself off the sick fucker, the stares from the Free Folk, their wide eyes sent shame down into the pit of his stomach.

When he drew near to them to clean himself with water, he noticed they backed up a few paces, especially the woman that handed him a bowl to wipe the blood and dirt off his face. 

He didn't like having that effect on people, he didn't use fear as a weapon.

Not like that bastard Ramsay. He relished in the fear that people held for him, it was his own get off.

His hold tightened on the table, and he felt the eyes of his friend drill into his mannerisms, a questionable glint taking over the atmosphere.

"Is it that Bolton cunt you're thinking of?" Tormund asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jon sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, and No. I-It's Sansa.."

Silence.

"Aye. He did do her dirty. Poor lass." Tormund mumbled.

Silence.

"Talk about it when you're ready, Snow." 

 

Jon ate his food in silence, grateful that most of the Northern Lord's were leaving by this point. Manderly and Cerwyn had left a few days earlier, needing to tend to matters in their own lands. They were to return in a fortnight, meaning to oversee the wedding of the Karstark woman.They had been less then pleased when Jon told them the plan of marrying her off, but they gave in not much later.

Spooning his soup into his mouth, he heard the burly door open and shut. Moving his head up, he saw Sansa, her red hair glinting in the dull light of the room. Her red tresses were tied back, not in a braid, but a half do just to get the little strands out of her face. Jon tightened his hold on his spoon, moving his gaze down, not wanting to meet her own. She had returned to ignoring him over the past few days, still angry that he had not listened to her.

Oh well, he was doing what he thought was right. He was more than happy to  _listen_ to her suggestions, anybody's really, but ultimately, he had to do what he thought was the best course of action.

Sigh.

A few minutes later, his food almost gone, his belly almost full, he saw her plop herself across from him, the spoon she wielded making a thudding noise against the wooden table.

"Are we going to spend our days in silence?" She demanded, after lifting the broth to her lips.

Jon chanced a glance up into her face, sensing the annoyance in her tone.

"I didn't think you wished to speak to me Sansa." He told her, not lying per say. Just not telling her the entire truth.

"What's done is done." She said, eating her food.

"Aye." Jon mumbled, growing uncomfortable it being just her and him in the room.

Silence.

"I don't think it's the situation with the marriage that has you all wound up though." She told him, reaching her hand out to cup his own.

His belly tightened, and he felt the urge to pull away from her. 

Damnit.

Shame.

_Shame._

"Why won't you look at me?" Sansa demanded, tightening her hold on his fingers.

Jon swallowed, his eyes slowly rising to meet hers. The shame in his belly clenched so hard, he felt a jolt into his chest. There was pain in her expression, immensely so.

He was hurting her feelings by distancing himself from her.

He hated that.

"I'm sorry Sansa. Truly I am. It was not intentional to turn away from you, I just didn't wish to upset you further."

A little smile framed her lips, finally she pulled away from him, going back to spooning soup into her mouth.

"Well, I'd like for us to get back to  _speaking_ to each other. I feel there is much to discuss. Have you heard the recent news?"

Jon nodded, eating the last piece of stale bread. "Aye, Kings Landing, the Sept of Baelor. Thank the Gods that mad woman didn't light the entire area on fire."

Sansa nodded, folding her arms across each other. 

"Jon. This is not good. What if she intends to send an army our way? She has to know by now that Winterfell has been taken back from the Boltons. She may be vicious but she is not stupid."

Jon begged to differ, but he kept that thought to himself.

"We don't move upon her until she comes this way. I personally don't think we have anything to worry about. The Lannister army does not have enough men, if the rumors are true that she murdered Lady Margaery, and her brother. Chances are the Tyrells aren't backing her any longer. There also is the weather to worry about. Winter has come Sansa, she wouldn't be careless enough to send the last of her armies into a death trap. They won't last the storms."

Sansa stared at him, but nodded her head. He saw a smirk forming on her lips, it sending a jolt down his spine.

"You're right."

Silence.

"Sansa." Jon said, the words almost sticking in his throat. Raising her head, she looked at him, her blue eyes distant, a tad bit of fear glowing in her irises.

"I won't let that mad bitch touch you."

She swallowed thickly, smiling yet again, nodding her head. 

 

Jon lay in bed that night, thinking of the conversation he and Sansa held. 

It was true, he'd go through hell and back if it meant she stayed here at Winterfell. He would never let those people get their hands on her ever again.

Taking a deep breath in, he felt his hand starting to lower and the same wave of being repulsed set his blood on fire, as it did every night now.

Shame.

_Shame._

 

 

Okay, second chapter, I might go ahead and write the third chapter today as well. I hope you enjoy!

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is wrong with him?

Sansa sat in her solar, relishing in the warmth from her blazing fire. She was trying to finish the new dress she was making for herself, she was growing tired of the blue dress she adorned. She wanted something different. Sighing, she looked out the window in her room, seeing the snow blow around the outer part of the castle.

"Lady Sansa." Brienne spoke, making Sansa jump a little bit. She had no idea sometimes how Brienne snuck about with being so tall, or with the mail she always wore.

"Yes Brienne?" She answered, setting her sewing down.

"I apologize lady Sansa, I seemed to have startled you." Brienne said, eyeing her mistress.

"Think nothing of it. I've been on pins and needles lately. It's no fault of yours."

The blonde woman nodded her head, gripping her swords handle. "I wanted to ask if everything is alright my Lady? You've been rather quiet these last few days. Has something happened that you're not telling me about?"

Silence.

Sansa sighed, looking back into the flames. "It's nothing you should worry yourself over Brienne. Jon and I have been arguing more and more it seems. He just...he seems so..angry at me all the time now. I don't know what I've done to make him so sour."

The taller woman took in the hurt appearance of her mistress, she took a deep breath in, poked her head out in the hallway, making sure no one else was in the vicinity of their conversation. Shutting the door, she latched the lock bar, and turned back to Sansa.

"May I speak freely, my lady?"

Sansa watched as she prepared to release some sort of secret upon her. It worried the younger girl. "W-What is it? Is something the matter with Jon?" She asked, her voice quivering a little bit.

Silence.

"I try to not listen to rumors my Lady, sometimes though, they are quite vile, especially coming from the wildlings, er, Free Folk." Brienne corrected herself, knowing that they took offence to the word wildling.

Sansa just stared at her, waiting on her to continue with what she was going to say. "I think it has something to do with that Karstark girl. His Grace doesn't seem to  _want_ to marry her off to one of his Free Folk advisers. They say he's smitten with her. That's all I've heard."

Sansa felt a wave of unease settle over her person. Jon was jealous? 

"D-Do you think he'll try to marry her himself?" Sansa asked Brienne.

Brienne just looked at her and shrugged, "I'm not sure my Lady. Has he not told you anything?"

Sansa just shook her head.

 

She was on a mission as she marched down the hallway. it was rather late she knew, but she wanted to know if what they were saying was true or not, and why, if it was, hadn't he told her?

Knocking on his door, she waited. Hearing a moan, she grew worried. What if he was harmed?

She pushed against the wood, opening the door. What she saw made her heart drop.

Jon was being rode by some woman, her head flung back, her breasts sticking straight out, his hands on them.

The woman and Jon whipped their heads to her, but Sansa pulled herself together in time to shakily walk away from the room, shutting the door.

 

Jon felt dread pour into his stomach at the ghostly pale expression on Sansa's face. He shoved at the village woman, pushing her from his person. The shame he felt at his actions consumed him. She wasn't supposed to walk in and see him in this position, especially with some woman he did not know. 

What did it make him look like in her eyes?

"Your Grace?" The woman questioned, pulling her clothing back on.

He said nothing to her, pulling his own clothes on.

When she was finished, she curtsied, then left him.

He set his head in his hands. Taking some random woman was not like him at all, but, he just couldn't take it any longer. He had to release himself, in some way or another. The previous afternoon, he had tried to spar with a willing participant, which was few every since he was named King. 

It annoyed him. They treated him differently, like he was some kind of untouchable God now that he was the King. Which he absolutely hated, he wanted to be treated like a regular person, not some infant.

Shaking his head, he dismissed these thoughts. 

He needed to find Sansa.

 

He had made it to her door when he saw Lady Brienne leave her room. 

"Your Grace." She said, bobbing her head.

"Please my Lady, when we're not in close proximity to others you may call me Jon."

Brienne just stared at him, but nodded in understanding.

"Jon then."

Silence.

"I would like to speak to Lady Sansa, if that is alright?"

Brienne nodded, "You needn't ask me whether you can and cannot speak to your own sibling, Your Gr-Jon." She corrected herself, catching the humor in his facial expression. 

"Aye. I suppose not. Is she sleeping?"

Brienne shook her head. 

 

Jon knocked lightly, feeling tension clutch his stomach once more.

"Yes?" The light voice called at the visitor, Jon took a deep breath, shoving the door open.

Sansa was sewing, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

She looked up from her work and met his eyes. 

They were cold.

Distant.

He didn't like that expression.

Silence.

"Sansa. I-I I just wanted to talk to you about what you saw." He mumbled, sitting himself in the chair across from her.

Looking back down at her pattern, she continued to sew. 

"I don't know what you're referring to your Grace."

Jon tightened his hold on the arm of the chair. He knew this Sansa, this cold, reserved Sansa that closed in on herself when she was angry. Mainly when she was angry at him.

"Do not be like that Sansa. Please." He said to her, wishing she would look at him.

Silence.

"As I said before I don't know what you're referring to your Gr-."

"Stop it!" He snapped.

His vicious snarl made her jump slightly, but it did not frighten her. It only succeeded in making her more annoyed with him.

Jon watched as her grip tightened on her needlework, her head coming up, her cold eyes locking onto his own.

"And what would you like me to say? You do not listen to me when I speak, so why should I speak to you at all?"

He glared at her, feeling the heat climb into his cheeks at her pettiness.

"I only came in here to apologize for what you walked in on." He grit out through clenched teeth.

Sansa just stared at him.

"You needn't apologize to me for matters that are none of my business. You are the King, you are a man, you do as you please."

The words were like ice hitting him. And he suddenly lept up, grabbing that blasted needlework from her hand, flinging it across the room. He planted both of his hands on either sides of her chair, locking her into place.

They were both breathing heavily, just as they were when they argued in the tent before they battled Ramsay Bolton, the same tense, thick confusion and anger clenched at his insides seeing her eyes glow with her irritation.

Jon was trembling, trying to his damndest not to give into temptation by touching her. He could feel the heat from her body, see the angry red tinge on her cheeks as she glowered at him.

"You can take your pleasure in that woman  _Jon Snow,_ but I'll be damned if you think you can take it from me!" Sansa yelled into his face, shoving him with force that he did not know she had within her. Stumbling back, he grabbed the wood of the table in her quarters, righting himself before he fell.

Gods above, she was maddening. He hated the cold exterior she put around herself when she was angry at him. 

They were both staring at each other, their chests rising and falling in unision of the other.

Jon clenched and un-clenched his fists, trying his hardest to regain some sort of control.

Seven help him, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to tell her that the only reason why that woman was in his room was because of  _her._

 _"_ I think you need to leave Jon." Sansa said to him, glaring at him mid sentence.

The words were like cold water being doused on him.

Closing his eyes, he knew that he had gone a little bit too far with her. He just couldn't help it though, he  _hated_ when she distanced himself from him, when she put up that ice wall around herself, it absolutely infuriated him.

At that thought, he left her to stand there, watching him as he went.

 

Sansa released a breath she didn't know she had been holding when he slammed the door shut behind himself. 

Gods, that was tense.

It had never come to that before, even in the tent after they got done yelling at each other. Sansa could feel it then to, could feel the way his eyes drilled into her as he stepped closer and closer to her within the confined space.

It was suffocating, truth be told. It pushed down on her psyche, making her all too aware that her  _brother_ was trembling before her, wracked with an emotion that was foreign to her, but not totally alien. She had seen the same emotion in Littlefingers eyes at times when he looked at her. However, when he did it, it made her stomach clench with uneasiness, when Jon did it, it made her blood hum.

Back in the tent though, he never laid his hands anywhere near her. He kept them planted on the table, as if shoving them into the wood, to keep them from touching her. He probably didn't think she noticed, but she had, and it left questions in her mind all through the night.

Ever since then, things were tense between the two of them. Even when she was talking to Ramsay on the battlefield, she sensed the rage boil off of Jon, no matter how hard he composed himself. 

Sansa didn't know what to make of any of this.

Then, on the battlements. After he kissed her forehead, she felt his fingers trembling on her temples, his dark irises moving down the length of her face to stop at her lips. After a few seconds, he nodded his head, pulling away.

He confused her, and made her question what his intentions were.

Before she stumbled upon him at the wall, it had been near five years since she had seen him. He looked so different, his hair was more like her father's and his body was laced with muscle that he did not have at Winterfell years before. When he swung her up in a bone breaking hug, she felt his shoulders, rippled with scars and muscle, and it lit a spark in her blood that had never quite left.

Sighing, she plucked up the embroidery that he had thrown across the chamber, brushing the dirt off the silken fabric.

After, she sat herself upon her bed, laying the work down beside her, lost in thought. 

 

Jon paced his rooms, wanting to rip his fucking hair out. Why had he done that? He had completely lost himself. Gods, he was going insane.

He had probably frightened her as well, throwing himself over her as if he were some kind of wild beast.

Damnit!

He needed this tension gone, he needed a release from himself.

He'd leave.

Yes. He needed to get away from her, before he did something that would shame them both for the rest of their days.

Shaking slightly, he laid himself down, trying his best to let sleep claim him.

It didn't work.

It never did now.

 

 

Alas, another chapter come and gone. I hope you have enjoyed this, tell me your thoughts if you'd like. I would love to hear them!

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't hide from this.

"Where are you planning to go, your Grace?" Davos asked as they readied their horses to ride out into the woods to hunt.

"I'm not sure Ser Davos, somewhere not too far. I just need a break."

The elder man just stared at his king, sensing something was wrong with him.

They rode off, the cold air whipping at their faces as they descended into the forest.

A little bit later, they had managed to bring down several deer, and a few rabbits. Davos watched Jon, his hands bloody from ripping open the flesh of the deer, harvesting the Venison. 

"Your Grace. Something bothers you. I can see it, you can tell me if you wish."

Jon continued to rip at the meat of the animal, his hands trembling.

"Ser Davos, when we are alone, you may call me Jon."

The older man just stared at him, knowing now that something was eating at the young man.

"Jon. You can tell me if you'd like."

Silence.

Jon's hands were bloody, his eyes wide when he looked at Davos.

"You will think me sick Ser Davos. I'd rather you not know."

"My Lord, I've seen a lot of sick things in my time. I must say, whatever you tell me, I will keep it between us."

Jon just stared ahead, wanting so badly to tell him. Then, without him having any control, the words fell from his lips.

"It's Lady Sansa." He mumbled, wiping the bloodied knife on a cloth.

Ser Davos nodded, grabbing a rabbit to skin. 

"Aye? What ails her?"

Silence.

"Not her. Me."

Davos looked up at the young King, nodding his head. "Aye? What ails you Jon?"

Silence.

"Something perverse." He grumbled, sticking his knife into the tender skin of a deer he was skinning.

Davos stared at him, grouping the two together.

"I see." He said to Jon, noticing the grim expression on his face.

Silence.

"She's a beautiful woman, and you have not seen each other for a very long time. It's not a perverse emotion."

"The hell it isn't!" Jon snarled at him, ripping into the meat of one of the deers.

Davos nodded, and sighed, not sure how to comfort the young man.

"They'll think of me as Jamie Lannister." Jon said, clenching his eyes shut.

"Jamie acted upon his desires, your Grace. And Lady Sansa is only your half sister. Did either of you have any sibling type of relationship when you were at Winterfell together?"

Jon shook his head, "Lady Catelyn kept her away from the bastard of Winterfell. She didn't want to sully her daughters good name."

Davos caught the spiteful tone in his King's voice.

"I see. Well, that is the problem then. You two don't see each other as true siblings. You two have never had that type of relationship before."

Jon just shook his head, the self hatred welling up in his being.

"You care for her Jon, and it's been quite awhile since either one of you have felt the full effects of love. It's not uncommon.."

Jon just listened and nodded, but he wasn't going to go into details with his adviser, he didn't feel like lowering himself any further. 

 

After their hunt, they made their way back to Winterfell, bags full of meat. 

Sansa was standing out back, brushing Ghosts fur when she heard the soldiers bellow to open the gates. She brushed her hair out of her face and glanced up at the two riders coming in.

Ser Davos and Jon.

Seeing Jon made her belly do a flop, and she hastily looked away from him. 

His hands were stained with blood from hunting, and his eyes looked ahead of him, his hair bouncing with the horses trots.

Sansa was near the pasture, smoothly backing up so he would not see her. Moving back too quickly, she stumbled and fell into somebody who righted her before she could fall down completely.

"Sorry my Lady, I didn't want you to fall."

It was one of the stable boys.

She chuckled, brushing her dress off, looking up into his face. "I appreciate it...George. Am I correct with your name?"

The younger man nodded, smiling at her.

"I apologize, it's been so long since I've had so many names to memorize. Forgive me if I've caused offence." She told him warmly.

He shook his head, bowing lightly.

"I appreciate any sentiment you give me my Lady."

Sansa smiled, but the humor was short lived when a voice split through the air, calling George's attention.

"George! Stop gallivanting and assist me with my horse." Jon said, trying his best to lug the heavy weight of the bags off the steer.

 

Jon noticed Sansa, he also noticed how close George the stable boy was to her. He saw as she stumbled back, almost tripping on her dress when George's hand whipped out and grabbed her. 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows, taking in their merry conversation. He watched as his sister grinned and joked with the young man, and it made his blood run cold. 

Jealousy gripped his chest as he watched the interaction.

A shameful feeling. He  _knew_ this. But one he could not for the life of him help.

Sansa was very beautiful, and plenty noticed, to Jon's annoyance. He noticed the way men looked at her, even when they were at the wall, he'd catch Edd staring at her, at that point he'd nudge his friend with his elbow sharply, raising a brow at him. His friend would always apologize, specifying it was a harmless glance at a beautiful woman.

That was another reason why he took her from the wall. All the men there were not as trust worthy as Edd was. And he didn't feel like killing anymore of his men at Castle Black.

He watched as they flirted with each other, George's eyes glancing over her, taking in her beauty.

Jon had seen enough.

"George! Stop gallivanting and assist me with my horse." He called out, trying hard not to scream at the younger boy.

 

Sansa was braiding her hair in front of the mirror when there was a knock at her door. 

She was in the middle of weaving her hair together, so she couldn't go and open the door for the person coming upon her chambers.

"Who is it?" She called, accidentally tugged a piece of hair too hard, making her shriek.

"Sansa! Open the blasted door. Who's in there with you!?"

She was in the middle of untangling her knots, not having the time to answer him, when he banged open her door, his eyes flying rapidly around the room.

"J-Jon, what are you doing?!" She demanded, glaring at him heatedly.

"I heard you shriek." He said, standing beside the oaken door, embarrassment flaming up on his cheeks.

"That doesn't give you the right to just barge into my chambers." She scolded him.

He just raised one of his eyebrows at her reflection, "Well, I was half expecting that stable boy to be in here with you."

Jon snapped his mouth shut, closing his eyes. That was not supposed to come out.

Too late though.

Sansa dropped her braid, turning around, she glowered at him, marching forward, her hand whipped out and clipped his cheek roughly.

Jon's head snapped back, and he instantly tasted the metallic tang of metal, signaling she had drawn blood.

Her chest was rising and falling, her hand that struck him clasped in the one hand that hadn't. 

Jon rubbed his cheek, highly ashamed at what he had just said to her, he glanced in her direction, then turned and left her chambers.

 

Sansa laid in bed that night, highly annoyed. How dare he talk to her like that...as if she'd do anything so stupid. He honestly had no bloody room to talk, the last time she had went into his chambers, he was bedding some whore.

It was all becoming too much for her. 

Sighing, she removed her clothes, and laid down in her bed again.

The fireplace flickered, being the only source of light in the room now. Shutting her eyes, she saw his almost black irises in her minds eye. They stared at her when she wasn't looking, took her in while she was busy doing something else. He probably thought that she never noticed, but years of having to look out for yourself had made her all too aware.

When she would sense his staring, she'd feel a jolt down her belly, leaving her in a questionable mood.

She wasn't sure what it was. She hadn't ever experienced anything like it before. 

All the men that she thought she had loved in her life, her suitors that is, were so different from Jon. Joffrey was like a little sniveling girl, who whined and had temper tantrums when things didn't go his way. Loras never really saw her, he was too focused on the various good looking men that walked by to really see her.

Odd how she never caught onto the fact that he preferred men.

She really was an idiot back then.

But Jon, he seemed to look right into her soul. 

That had never happened before.

It unnerved her. It left her feeling stripped of herself, and she wasn't really sure if that was a  _good_ thing.

Ramsay..

He took everything from her by force. He never cared, never cared about her screams for mercy, or her moans of pain when he would draw her blood. All he did was laugh in her face while he ripped and shred her inner self down to the core, to where there was nothing left for her to do except lie on the bed and take it. 

Shuddering, she pushed those thoughts from her mind. He couldn't touch her anymore, couldn't force himself upon her being anymore.

Her mind then strayed back to Jon. He to was a bastard, but he was  _nothing_ like Ramsay, he wasn't rough, he wasn't merciless. 

They were very different.

So, what had she done exactly? What had she said or  _done_ to Jon to make him treat her this way? 

The tears welled up, some trickling down her pale face to pool onto the bed. 

Crying would do nothing. 

It never had..

 

Jon was saddling up his horse when he felt a presence nearby. 

It was Tormund.

"Awfully late to be riding out, Lord Crow." He said to his friend, watching as he mounted the horse, "What ails ye?"

Jon gripped the reigns, turning his horses head around to where he was now facing the gate.

"Taking your advice." He said, turning his head to see the red-haired man smile wickedly.

He kicked at the sides of the horse, moving into a slow trot. 

 

Wintertown was dead when he arrived, numerous lamps had been distinguished, making the town look deserted. There was a few flickering though, by what he gathered was the brothel.

He rode up to it, dismounting quietly.

He entered, seeing the various women littered around the establishment. 

"Aye. Bo-"

He turned to the brothel owner and watched as her snide remark withered away and she hastily curtsied, "Y-Your Grace. I apologize. I did not know it was you."

He only nodded.

"What brings you here, your Grace? Are you looking for any particular lady?" The brothel keeper asked, beckoning all the women over to her.

Jon sighed, sitting himself down.

"You know what I'm here for madame."

She smiled, winking at him, "Do you have a preference, my Lord?"

He swallowed, feeling his loins constrict, his eyes dancing on the females that were surrounding him now.

"Red hair."

 

He was brought up above to one of the spare rooms, hurriedly rushed into an empty room.

A woman came in behind him, softly shutting the door behind herself. 

"I hear you like red hair, your Grace." The woman said to him, moving to untie the laces that held her dress up.

He swallowed and nodded, looking her over. She was a beautiful woman, probably approaching her 20th name day. 

"What's your name, my Lady?" He asked her through a large lump in his throat.

"Lillian, your Grace." She curtsied, smiling at him, allowing her dress to drop then.

Jon swallowed, her naked form approaching him. He drank in her beauty, her tits were rather large, swaying before him, her stomach was flat, the thatch between her legs was covered in red hair, beckoning him.

He then felt a stab of guilt, thinking of Sansa.

She was why he was here. 

Jon couldn't look into the woman's face, in fear he'd see his  _half-sister_ there, scowling down at him, at his actions.

Damndable woman.

He whipped out and drew her forward, grabbing her breasts, licking the left nipple, then changing and licking the right. She groaned, entangling her fingers in his curly hair. Standing up, he gripped her hips, throwing her onto the bed. She laughed as he did so, opening her legs wide so he could really see what he was getting.

Jon began to undress, tugging his tunic off, then the rest of his clothing, until he was naked before Lillian.

He wasted no time, wanting his release to come.

Grabbing her thighs, he flipped her upon her belly, running his hands down the expanse of her back. Her red hair fell over her shoulders, entangling in his hands, twining between his fingers.

He growled, fisting his hand through her hair, jerking her head up so he could kiss down the expanse of her neck. 

She moaned, arching her hips off the bed, opening herself up to him even more so. Running his hand down, he stroked her cleft, feeling the wetness that lay there, waiting on him. Aligning his hips at her entrance, he pushed through, snapping his hips up, ramming his full length into her. 

The woman gasped, arching her hips up even more.

He set both of his hands on either side of her back, feeling her firm buttocks slap back against his thighs as he fucked her.

It didn't take long, he closed his eyes and tried his damned hardest not to think of Sansa. He tried not to think that it was her below him, it was her ass slapping against his thighs, her soft skin that he wanted to devour.

Minutes ticked by, and a few thrusts later, his climax was crashing upon him, the girl having cum moments before.

Her face. Her sweet face was before his eyes as he pulled out and shot his seed over the woman's back.

"S-San-," He whimpered, not able to get her full name from falling past his lips, his hands were shaky as they grasped Lillian's buttocks to him roughly.

 

After some time, he dressed, paid the woman, and was riding away from the brothel.

Jon couldn't help the feeling of shame rise within him again. 

The mortification that came with the utter confusion of why he was lusting over this female that had come back into his life not too long ago.

She was his blasted half-sister, he didn't understand why this was happening to him.

_Why?_

He rode for what felt like forever when the dull lanterns of Winterfell greeted him in the distance. 

"Open the gates!" A bellow rang out, and he rode in, feeling the same weight descend upon his shoulders as he looked around the courtyard. He felt no better, feeling the same tugging at his nether region, picturing her face in his mind.

He sighed heavily, the stable-boy George drawing from the dark corner, watching his King dismount.

"Your Grace." George said, bowing his head, yawning slightly.

"No need to help. Go rest, I can put this mare up by myself." He said to the lad, narrowing his eyes. To be honest, he was in no mood to face the boy that was flirting with Sansa earlier that day. His temper was very much near the surface, and he didn't feel like looking for a new stable boy.

"Yes, your Grace. If you need me, I will not be too far away."

 

Sansa tossed and turned that night, nightmare after nightmare resurfacing. Ramsay was the brunt of her issues when she slept, she was always afraid she would wake with him pounding on her door, ready to rape her again. Or beat her.

The nightmares were always the same. He would always cut her, or slap her while he took her roughly upon her parents bed. 

That mortified her all the more. 

Her parents were probably watching her and her  _husband_ , watching as their eldest daughter was brutalized upon the bed they had made a family in.

Sansa snapped her eyes open, feeling the nausea roll through her. She sat up, pulling the covers from her person, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

It worked sometimes, but not all the time, like right now.

Gripping her stomach, she shut her eyes and thought of a peaceful place, a place where no-one could ever touch her. Wherever the hell that might be..

She missed talking to Jon about these things, he was the only one that could really talk her down, his voice tender, soft, soothing.

But she honestly didn't want to venture to his room, she was terrified of what would greet her. She did not want to stumble upon another scene of him with another woman. 

Seeing it once was enough for her.

Feeling a little more calm, she laid back, shutting her eyes, taking a deep breath it, feeling sleep befall her once again.

She would talk to him tomorrow. 

She needed to apologize for hitting him.

She needed to see him..

 

 

I hope ya'll enjoyed it. Tell me what you think so far,:)

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time I hear you say such things about her, I'll execute you myself. Do you understand?

Jon sat at the table the next morning, rubbing his temples, feeling a headache start to consume him. Taking a deep breath in, he nudged the pork sausage and eggs around on his plate, feeling his stomach churn. He wasn't that hungry, he wasn't anything..

Tormund was eating in front of him, stuffing his face with various breakfast items, making slurping sounds as he shoved the food into his mouth. Davos himself was nearing the end of his own breakfast, stuffing a piece of bacon into his mouth as his eyes wandered around the room.

A snicker from the table above Jon's caught his attention. The men were guards, some younger than Jon, some a little bit older, but they kept mostly to the end of the table. 

Jon suddenly heard something that made his blood run cold.

"She's mighty pretty, such a shame she's no longer a virgin. Did you hear what Ramsay did to her?" Then they snickered.

Jon felt his temper flare at what they were saying, and he knew  _who_ they were saying it about.

Moving up out of his chair, he went over to their table, glaring at the lot of them. They all went quiet seeing his face.

"Well, continue on with your conversation lads, don't mind me." He sat, anger laced in his tone. "But, whoever continues will have to do so without a tongue. Now, do you lot not  _want_ a tongue?"

They were dead silent.

"Nothing to say now?" Jon asked them, thumbing Longclaw. His dark eyes swept over their heads, his hand now in a vice like grip on his sword.

Silence.

"Who started this conversation about my  _sister?"_

Silence.

"The man who started this conversation will speak up, or so help me I'll have my wolf rip off every one of your cocks." He threatened them, watching their faces take on an ashy white color.

Suddenly, all the men pointed to a young lad in the middle, his face red, his hands shaking.

Jon walked over to stand behind him, sensing the discomfort from the younger man. 

Silence.

"You have seconds to tell me why you have the  _balls_ to talk about my sister while I'm sitting no less than five feet away from you." Jon said, his tone menacing.

The younger male said nothing, only shrugged his shoulders. 

"I-I'm sorry Your Grace. I was stupid. I d-didn't think you would hear."

Jon glowered at him, wanting very badly to rid his head from his shoulders. He suddenly felt a hand on his back, turning, he saw Tormund and Davos trying to pull him away from the guards table.

"This is your one warning. If I hear you speak about her ever again, I'll mount your head on Winterfell's walls." Jon threatened lowly, clenching his fist, making sure his threat made impact on all the men at the table.

They all nodded, and at that, Jon turned away, marching out the door.

 

Davos watched his King, watched him as he sparred with a multitude of men in the courtyard. He had seen the rage that flew across the younger man's face when he heard what the men in the Great Hall were talking about.

Dumb shits.

He honestly thought he would behead one of them.

He was lucky that Tormund was thinking the same thing he was. 

They drug Jon out, where he shouldered them off of him roughly, and then went to do some sparring with some of the wildling men.

Jon had told him about the issue with Lady Sansa, he had been very sparse with the details, but Davos could  _guess_ what was going through his head. He had heard of this scenario happening to children that were not close, or with..cousins.

But, they were half-siblings?

Davos wondered who the mother of Jon Snow was. She must have been someone very special for Ned Stark to lose his honor. Which, was very difficult to accomplish.

He felt though, that there was something missing in this story. Ned Stark would never father a bastard, he would never lose his honor in that way, especially when he was hunting for his sister Lyanna during the war.

Lyanna Stark.

Davos continued to watch Jon spar, thoughts coursing through his mind. He needed to keep this to himself, these ideas could be treasonous.

 

Jon wiped his blade off, shoving it back into its sheathe. He was walking down the hallway, Ghost on his heels, his paws trotting against the stones of the floor. Jon smoothed some of the hair out of his face, shifting his tunic before he shouldered his way into his room.

Unfastening his belt, taking it off, he suddenly heard a light squeak. He stopped immediately, jumping slightly at the sound.

It was Sansa. She was sitting beside the fire, reading over a piece of parchment.

"I-I, I'm sorry Jon. I just wanted to speak to you. If you need me to leave while you undress, I can do so." She stood now, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear nervously. 

Jon raised an eyebrow, but only put his hand out when she got too close to leave.

"Say your peace. I'll change when we're done talking." Jon didn't mean for the comment to come out acidic, but it did. 

Looking her over, he noticed that she wore a new dress. This dress, unlike the other one was a little less dressy. It did have a Stark wolf on it, but it flared out more at the bottom, unlike the other one that hugged all her curves. The color was also different, it was not blue, it was a beautiful green, not too dark, and it went rather beautifully with her hair.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of his sinful trance and motioned for her to sit.

They sat together, the silence whirling around them.

She spoke up then.

"Do you like my dress?" She asked him, letting a small smile grace her features.

Jon nodded, not having the ability to look her in the eye. 

Sansa herself felt a drop in her stomach. He never looked at her anymore, it's like he couldn't stomach to do so.

Silence.

"Jon." She said to him, reaching out to set a hand on his knee.

He tensed, staring down at her soft hand. He wanted to tell her to remove it from his person, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings at the same time.

"Please." She murmured, "Please look at me Jon."

His dark irises, trailed up her body to finally clash with her icicle blues. The shudder that coursed through him was violent and he hoped to any Gods that may be watching that she did not notice.

"Jon. We've grown apart from each other. We fight every time we're together now. A-And, I am so sorry for striking you the other day. That was not appropriate." After saying her peace, Jon watched as she bit her lip, retracting her fingers to set them into her lap.

He had hurt her, and the guilt he felt was pressing hard on his heart.

"Sansa."

She looked back at him, her eyes full of tears.

"You needn't apologize. I went to far in what I said to you about George. I was the one who was inappropriate."

They stared at each other. Jon wanted to break the eye contact, revisiting his memories where he fucked the woman at the brothel, the name from his lips being Sansa's name as he came.

Standing up, he turned around, wringing his hands together, wanting to disappear.

"I-I must get dressed." He whispered, gripping a chair.

Sansa swallowed, feeling the hurt crush her heart. 

Standing up herself, she turned, but stayed rooted to the spot.

Silence.

"Jon."

He didn't say anything, but she knew he was listening to her. 

"Why didn't you tell me about Alys Karstark?"

Jon furrowed his eyebrows, genienly confused at her question, what did she mean by that?

"I don't know what you're talking about Sansa?" He said to her, looking in her direction now.

"I mean, if you have  _feelings_ for her, you should tell her. If you don't want her to marry one of your Free Folk men, you should-you should marry her yourself.." Sansa's mouth went dry, her heart racing.

Did she  _want_ him to marry the Karstark woman?

Jon just stared at her, not knowing what to say to that. Where in the world had she gotten this from anyway?

"I assure you, I don't want to be with the Karstark girl." He said, annoyance gripping him now.

"B-But, I just assumed that's why you've been so angry. Y-You, I..." Sansa stopped talking, embarrassed at her lack of knowing what to say.

Jon glared at her, watching her chest rise and fall, her cheeks redden with confusion, her damn hair falling gracefully down her back. Gods above, she was blind. 

She then straightened herself up, walking over to him now. 

"I don't want to fight with you anymore Jon, please." Her blue eyes pleaded with him, her lips parted, waiting on him to say something.

When he said nothing after a few moments, she drew closer and he closed his eyes, praying for her to leave him. Her petite hand came out to touch his shoulder and he recoiled, backing up to where he now stood away from her.

"J-Jon? Are you alright?" She asked him, worry in her tone.

He reached out and gripped one of the chairs so tightly that his knuckles whitened. 

"I-I just need a bath. Please, leave me now Sansa." His voice was hollow, deep, pleading... He needed her out of here, he needed her away from him.

Didn't she see what she was doing to him?

Nodding her head profusely, she whirled around and bounded out the door, shutting it roughly behind her.

He stood rooted to the spot, his hands quivering, his body aching for her. Jon knew...knew he was ruining his relationship with her, knew he was shoving her away.

Growling furociously, he picked up a mug of ale and threw it at the wall, watching the contents fly across the stones, the mug making a high clanging noise that made Ghost jump.

Jon sat down, shoving his head into his hands, letting out a loose sob.

Gods help him.

If there were any..

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sat in the Godswood staring out into the snow at her feet..

Sansa sat in the Godswood staring out into the snow that piled around her feet. It was bloody cold, and the wind was howling around her, but she needed to get away from her chamber for awhile. 

Jon never visited her anymore. He never stuck around her anymore.

It was like he couldn't stomach to look at her.

And that thought alone broke her into. She had no-one without Jon. 

Sure the ladies of the other houses were here some of the time, but Sansa felt outcast around them now. She did not want to listen to their tales of children, handsome suitors, or anymore of that nonsense.

She had outgrown it, and no longer believed in pretty stories. 

Other then them, she hardly talked to anyone other than Brienne, and sometimes Podrick.

She grew tired of spending time in her chambers, she felt like she was being warehoused, which made her skin crawl and brought her back to that place where she was being held captive by Ramsay. Of course, that's not what was happening, but the loneliness was crushing her.

In the midst of her thinking, she heard footsteps break in the snow to her right, where the gate to get into Winterfell was. Looking up quickly, she noticed it was the stable boy George. 

Sansa smiled lightly, looking down again. 

In a few seconds, he was standing no to far away from her, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. 

"My Lady." He bowed softly, his blue eyes shining.

She nodded at him, lightly tapping the empty space beside her, so he could sit down. He settled in, making sure not to brush up against her hip.

"My Lady, it is very cold out here. Do you want to go back to the castle? I'd hate for you to fall ill."

Sansa glanced at him, feeling the warmth from his being. "No, you needn't worry. The cold runs in our veins, we're not as susceptible to cold related illness as others are." She then smiled, closing her eyes, enjoying the frost that landed on her shoulders.

"I must insist my Lady that if the wind picks up, you should try to move into shelter, it could mean a snow storm is coming."

Sansa sighed, but nodded, knowing he was right. 

Silence.

"Why are you out here by yourself my La-."

"Please, George, call me Sansa." She told him, moving her braided hair over her shoulder.

"Sansa." He said, blushing slightly.

The Stark girl just shrugged her shoulder, "I didn't want to be held up inside. For years, I was confined to a room, or was held captive in the South, where there was no snow. I missed it so much. It feels heavenly to sit in it again."

George nodded, looking out into the weather himself now.

"I've always loved the Northern weather, the snow seems almost cleansing in some way. The hot sun is unbearable to me."

Sansa nodded, agreeing with his statement.

They both looked at each other, striking up a conversation about their families. 

"Why did you become a stable boy?" Sansa asked him.

George shifted, sighing almost sadly.

"My father died in the previous King's war. Y-Your brother that is, he was a wonderful king, it was the damn Freys fault. They betrayed him. Well, outside the wedding at the Twins by father had his throat slit."

Sansa looked at the young man and nodded, understanding.

"I know how that feels. My brother had a bolt put through his heart, and my mother had her throat slit to the bone. Then, the Frey's threw her body in the river." She said, softly, but her tone was spiteful, hateful.

George reached out, almost touching her hand, but withdrew it quickly.

"I-I'm sorry for being so forward my Lady, I only want to comfort you." He told her. Sansa smiled, and then took his hand, looking into his eyes. 

"You do me no dishonor George. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

 

Jon sat in Winterfell's study, Davos and Tormund in chairs by the fire. On the desk were letters splayed out for different houses. The wedding with Alys Karstark was in a weeks time, and they had to start making provisions. Alys wanted to be married in the Godswood, surrounded by the old God's watching the ceremony. Jon couldn't turn her down, after all she was being forced into this.

"Your Grace. There's a letter from the twins. I think you may want to read this." Davos suddenly spoke up, giving the parchment to Jon.

Jon stared at him, but nodded, looking down.

 _Walder Frey_   _lies dead._

_His sons met the same fate._

_I am your eyes, your ears, King in the North._

_Sincerely,_

_No-one._

Jon just looked at it in confusion, who exactly was this no-one? They had killed the Freys? 

In any way, that meant that some of their enemies were now dead. Mainly the men that had betrayed Robb and had slaughtered him at the Red Wedding. 

"The Frey's are dead. Murdered." Jon said to his advisers.

"The cunts that killed your brother?" Tormund asked, putting his ale down to stare at the Crow.

"The same." Jon said, setting the parchment upon the table. 

Davos grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it, "This is good news your Grace, now if only the Lannisters would get the hell out of there."

Jon smiled, sitting down, feeling his heart squeeze thinking of the death of his brother. 

He, Davos and Tormund talked a little bit more, when Jon looked out the window, seeing the snow start to fall heavier against the landscape.

"I need to tell Sansa this news. She will be pleased with this information. Have either of you seen her today?" He asked the both of them. There was shame in his heart when he asked, knowing that he himself should have  _known_ where his own sister was.

Tormund swallowed his drink, "Aye. I saw Brienne leave her so she could go to the Godswood. That was about an hour ago."

Jon stood up quickly, "She's still out there? Damn it all." He said, grabbing his sword and his cloak as he shrugged them on, making his way out the door. 

 

It was damn cold. Jon mounted his horse, trotting out of the castle gates. 

He was upon the Godswood in no time, looking around for her. Suddenly, her bright hair stood out to him, drawing him to the bench that sat in front of the Weirwood tree. But, she was not alone.

The stable boy was there with her, laughing at something she had just said. 

He felt the bitter taste of jealousy rise up within him. Kicking the sides of his horse, the animal picked up speed, getting to the two in no time. 

"Sister." He said, interrupting their good time.

Sansa smiled up at him, brushing the loose hair from her eyes.

"Jon. What are you doing out here?" She questioned, not noticing his blatant irritation at George being out here with her.

"The question is sister, why are  _you_ sitting out in a snow storm?" Jon asked her through grit teeth, his brown eyes never leaving her blue one's.

Sansa picked up on his aggravation and arched an eyebrow, confused at his reaction.

"W-Well, George and I got caught up in a story about his childhood. He was telling me ab-"

Jon turned his glare on the stable lad, and Sansa saw this as well.

"Don't you have duties you should be doing George? Other than sitting out in a storm with Lady Stark?" He snapped at the younger lad, interrupting Sansa's sentence.

George stood up quickly, bowing, mumbling a quick sorry to Jon. He then turned, giving Sansa a small smile. "It was nice to spend time with you my Lady, I hope we can do it again during a more convenient time."

At that statement, he was rushing from the two Starks, twisting his fingers together.

Sansa felt the anger well up, and she turned her own glare to Jon, her cheeks turning red.

"You didn't have to be an arse." She said to him, standing up, brushing her dress off. 

Jon gripped his reins tightly, "The boy has no excuse to slack off on his work. Not only that, but it is inappropriate for the Lady of Winterfell to be out in the Godswood unchaperoned. Especially with a male. People will talk."

Sansa felt her mouth drop open at what he just said to her.

"Don't you _talk_ to me like you're my bloody father! You will  _not_ tell me what I will or will not do Jon Snow!"

Jon roughly ran a hand through his dark locks, watching as she fumed with fury.

"I will do as I please!" She snapped at him, gripping her skirts she turned away from him, storming off to the front of the castle.

Jon felt his temper flare and then run over. Gripping the horses reins tighter now, he moved the animal to a trot, reaching her side in two seconds. 

She didn't see him, didn't see him as he lept off his horse, slapping the animals side, making him trot back off to the stables.

In one second, he reached out and gripped her upper arm, spinning her around to where she was now pressed against his chest. Sansa struggled against him as he drug her off to push her against the bark of the Weirwood tree. 

"And just how  _better_ acquainted did you and  _George_ get, sweet sister?"

Sansa's hands came out to push against his chest, trying to shove him off of her. He was not having it as he grabbed at her wrists. 

"I don't know what you're talking about Jon. W-We're just friends!" She said to him, growing uncomfortable under his steely gaze.

Shoving against his chest again, she managed to make him stumble back, this time moving to hurry away from him.

He grabbed her upper arm again, making her eyes clash with his own. Sansa looked at him, biting her lip. "Y-You're hurting me Jon, let go of my arm."

The tone of her voice is what snapped him out of his angry daze. Shaking his head, he let go of her tender flesh and moved her back away from him.

"S-Sansa. Please forgive me, I'm so sorry." He said to her, his eyes wide.

Sansa rubbed at her arm, beginning to shiver due to the weather. She avoided his eyes, looking down at the snow instead.

"It felt nice to  _talk_ to someone. You avoid me at every turn, you're always angry with me, and I don't know why." The words caught in her throat, due to the pain in her heart. The Stark girl sniffled, wiping at her eyes, not wanting him to see her cry.

"Sansa." He said softly, reaching for her hand. 

She backed away from him, retracting her hand against her chest, not wanting him to touch her.

Taking a deep breath in, she walked past him, hurrying off into the castle's direction.

Jon just stood there, feeling the snow fall upon his person, he shuddered at what just transpired between them, feeling the shame swell in his person. He had manhandled her, had frightened her, and now she would probably always be afraid that he would do it again.

Just like Ramsay.

He shook his head, clearing his mind of those thoughts. It only caused the shame to curdle into sickness thinking that way.

Looking around at the Godswood, he moved forward, touching the bark of the tree. He looked up at the branches and then, fell to his knees in the snow.

"Please. Help me. I can't...I can't take this. To the old God's, the new God's, to any God's that are listening, please..help me fight this feeling that is consuming my heart."

It was a plee.

Jon remained kneeling in the snow, wanting to disappear.

 

The chapter is shorter, but I just wanted to get this out quickly.

Review if you'd like :)

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Meera

"We can't stay here forever Meera." Bran said to his companion, sitting himself up in the bed, glaring at the woman sitting at the foot of his bed.

"I know that Bran." She says to him, sliding her boots on.

"We also can't tell Edd to refrain from contacting Jon any longer either. When he finds out he will be furious!" Bran said to her, an angry bite to his tone.

Meera sighed, shoving her other boot on. "Bran, if anyone should be angry it's you, you're the  _true_ Lord of Winterfell, and he gets declared King?"

Bran shook his head, "I don't care one thing about being the  _Lord of Winterfell._ The last time I was the Lord of Winterfell Theon Greyjoy seized it from me, so apparently I wouldn't be a good one anyway."

Meera looked at him sadly, "It is no fault of yours that Theon took over the castle. That is on his shoulders, not yours."

Bran looked away from her, a solumn expression hitting his features.

Meera came over to him, touching his shoulder to get him to face her. "Don't be a brood Bran, it doesn't suite you," she said, smiling at him.

He smiled back at her, grabbing the hand that lay on his shoulder.

Silence.

"I also want to tell Jon what I found out. It's too personal to send in a letter. What if someone were to intercept it? They could use that information against him."

Meera nodded, leaning down to settle in the bed with him. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes enjoying the warmth that touched them both in their chambers.

 

Sansa was laying in bed rubbing her feet together. The fire burning in the hearth had withered down, not creating much warmth for her in the midst of the heavy winds outside. The snow storm had picked up profusely, beating strong ropes of snow on the stones of Winterfell. 

Suddenly, her mind went to the guards on the top gates, probably shivering.

She sat up, clutching her robe in her hand, throwing it on and tying it off. She turned up the lantern in her solar, and picked it up, walking out into the halls.

The wind was blowing so harshly that you could hear it brush the walls, the sound rather eerie, bringing her mind back to dark places.

She stopped walking, taking slow breaths, pushing those thoughts aside.

Walking up to Jon's rooms, she banged on his door, not caring if he was sleeping or not. After the little scene in the Godswood, she didn't care if he were ill and she woke him up. 

She heard a grumbling on the other side of the wood, and then it opened. 

Sansa smelled him before she saw him.

He smelled of potent ale, his eyes glassy and far away.

He was drunk.

"Jon." She said, wanting to clutch her nose.

His eyes were distant, his form slumped against the door frame. 

"A-Aye, it's Sansa." He said, letting lose a small giggle.

She glared at him, pushing his door open, marching through. She watched him turn and look at her, his form swaying even more so. 

"Yes, it's Sansa, I only came here to tell you that the guards should be switched out tonight. The weather is far to bad for just one guard to stay on duty. I see that I have to tend to that myself though."

Jon sat himself in a chair, grabbing at a full mug of ale, bringing it to his lips. He continued to stare at her, his eyes drinking her in. 

Growing uncomfortable under his gaze, she drew herself to her full height, pulling her cloak tighter around her frame. She watched as he took a long swig of his drink, slamming the mug back down.

She rolled her eyes and strode forward plucking the mug of ale from his grasp.

"Jon. This is not a very Kingly thing to be doing. Getting sloshed in your quarters, it's rather juvenile, don't you think?"

He glared at her, whipping his hand out to take the cup back, but she was quicker then he was at the moment.

She was furious at what he was doing, so she dumped the cup out on the floor and threw it against the wall, causing him to wince.

Her chest heaved as she stared down into his darkened irises, feeling herself wanting to strike him yet again. 

He said nothing as he stared at her angry expression.

Sansa turned to hastily make her way out of his quarters when she felt a hand on her bicep. His grip was like steel and she cried out, but before she could try to wiggle free, he had her turned and pinned against the wall. 

"J-Jo-."

She couldn't get the words out before his mouth was descending upon hers, gripping her tightly to him. 

Sansa gasped, feeling his hand cup her cheek, his fingers digging into her flesh.

His lips were rough against her own, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth. She tried to fight it, tried to fight off the onslaught of emotions that came with what he was doing, but God's above, she couldn't.

She was then kissing him back, fisting her hands in his tunic gasping against his mouth. 

Pulling back, he looked into her blue eyes, his chest heaving.

"Sansa. God's Sansa."

He pushed the heal of his hand against his forehead, walking backwards until he sat against his opposite wall and slid down the stones to the floor.

"Gods, forgive me Sansa."

She just stared at him, her chest heaving, her heart squeezing in her chest. Had that really just happened? Had he really just _kissed_ her?

Wasting no time, she fumbled for the door, turning to run blindly down the hallway, picking up her skirts as she did so. Having left her lantern back in his room, the hallways were dark, the shadows looming over her.

She was out of breath when she got to her chambers, shakily playing with the lock bar and throwing it into place. Sobbing, she backed up, swiping her hand across her mouth.

It was wrong. 

What had just happened between the two of them was  _wrong._

 _But,_ Gods, it didn't feel wrong.

Sansa shut her eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to calm herself down. He, in all honesty, didn't know what he was doing, he was extremely drunk. 

She had heard something though..when she was being held captive in King's Landing. She had heard that when men are drunk, they show who they really are. 

It would explain things.

It would explain why he was so tense around her now. It would explain why he was never alone with her, why he never let her into his chambers like he did before.

Her heart clenched, the truth not making her feel any better.

But...why? Sansa could hardly think that  _she_ was his type. With the Free Folk here, she had heard many things about Jon and his wilding lover. 

Ygritte.

The girl sounded nothing like Sansa. She was more Arya, truth be told. She was a fighter, she fought with her sword, not with her words, or her..ladyship like Sansa did. And Sansa herself didn't have a will of steel like everybody said Ygritte had. 

No, they were  _nothing_ alike.

Embarrassment seized her, then shame cuddled up to said emotion shortly after.

Was she really so pathetic?

Biting her lip, she willed her tears to stay at bay.

How was she to fix this? How were they to get past this?

 _Could_ they?

 

Jon woke up the next morning to a splitting headache. He groaned, setting his head in his hands whimpering from the pain. He then noticed that he was on the floor, the room freezing around him. 

Prying himself off the dusty cobbles, he stumbled over to the fire pit, lighting some flint, throwing it into the hearth adding a log onto the small flames. In a second, the fire was roaring again and he sat himself in the chair beside it, feeling his headache numb his senses.

Bloody hell what had he done to himself?

All he had remembered was coming back to his chambers and...drinking.

Drinking heavily.

But, he  _felt_ like something had happened. 

Looking around his solar, he noticed a lantern that had burned out, one that was not his own. Who had come into his rooms last night? 

Suddenly, a clenching in his stomach made him shoot for his chamber pot, hunching over it as the vomit poured painfully out of his body. After a few seconds, the wretching died down to dry heaving making his stomach muscles clench painfully.

Breathing in a couple of times making sure nothing else came up, he moved his sweaty hair away from his temples, settling himself shakily back into one of the chairs by the roaring fire. 

It was Sansa.

He knew it had been her. 

She wouldn't just leave her lantern in here, especially in the dead of night. Something had to have happened, and right now, he could not remember anything. Shoving his head into his hands, he cursed himself to hell and back for being so bloody stupid. 

She would hate him now.

He had manhandled her, insulted her, pushed her away, and had made a complete arse out of himself. 

What was he to do now?

 

Jon was laying back in his chair, his eyes closed when a knock came at the door. Swallowing, he winced, the noise causing a pulse in his temples to blind him.

"Enter." He said, sitting up, trying to look like a  _king._

It was Davos.

"Your Grace, this raven flew in from Dragonstone." The elder man handed Jon the parchment, standing back, folding his hands together.

Jon cleared his throat, looking at the crest on the outside. 

A three headed dragon.

Sniffling, he started to read.

 

 

Uh Oh. What did the letter say?

Review!!! I will update later today, or maybe tomorrow.

Love,

Heather.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do we know about this Dragon Queen?

Sansa sat and stared at the people around her in the Counselors chambers, they were talking amongst themselves, trying to decide what to do about this Daenerys Targaryen.

"Your Grace, we do not need another enemy." Ser Davos spoke up, sighing soundly.

"Aye." Jon mumbled, trailing his fingers along his eyebrow line, tensing his forehead.

Sansa herself didn't say anything, the events from the night of his drunken stupor still fresh in her mind, making her silent as the grave. Jon did look at her a couple of times, a red tinge taking place on his face. When she caught him staring he always whipped his eyes away from her.

It was awkward to say the least.

"How many does she have in her army?" Tormund asked Jon, taking a sip of his goat's milk.

"Enough to wipe out King's Landing, then come after us without a second thought." Davos mumbled, looking tired all of a sudden.

"She also has dragons?" Lady Lyanna spoke up then, putting her hand up to silence the Maester whispering in her ear.

Sansa looked between Lyanna and Jon, watching as her brother gave a stiff nod, looking a little defeated.

"And a horde of Dothraki." Lord Manderly grumbled darkly.

This bit of information took Sansa back a little bit.

"Dothraki?" She echoed, getting their attention now.

They nodded.

"W-Well, she's bloody stupid then isn't she?" Sansa said, shock evident in her voice, "Everybody knows the Dothraki are savages. They'll invade our lands Jon. They'll rape and pillage, and kill every bloody one of us."

Manderly nodded softly, agreeing with the young Stark woman.

"How many does she have?" She asked.

"Close to 40,000." Davos told her, cupping his hands together.

Sansa's blue eyes widened considerably.

"This Dragon Queen has lost her mind! If she thinks we'll bend the knee to her madness, she is sadly mistaken."

Jon sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. "We might not have a choice Sansa, we cannot fight her and the White-Walkers as well. Even if we didn't have to fight the Walkers, we don't have enough men to go to war with this woman. Especially if she has three grown dragons."

Sansa just stared at him, not saying anything in response.

"Who else is in her inner circle,Your Grace?" Lady Mormont spoke up again, her voice piercing the uncomfortable silence.

"Tyrion Lannister is with her. She has appointed him Hand of the Queen. " Davos answered.

Sansa was a little surprised at this.

"Your late husband?" Lady Lyanna questioned, turning her dark eyes to Sansa, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess. I have not seen nor spoken to him since I escaped King's Landing. I can't believe he went all the way to Mereen to seek her out." Sansa said, sincerely astonished that Tyrion was with this Dragon girl.

"Be that as it may..." Davos interjected, "We don't know what to expect from this woman. Her letter didn't say much of anything, just who was with her, and information about her army. The next step is what we are going to say back to her."

Silence.

"Has she called a meeting between the Lords of the land? And does she know you're King of the North, your Grace?" Lord Manderly asked Jon.

"No. They have just arrived at Dragonstone."

Sansa was trying to wrack her brain to how exactly Tyrion had gotten to Mereen without being killed by Cersei.

"Did the letter say who else was with her besides Tyrion Lannister?"

Jon nodded, "A man called Varys."

Ah. So that's how.

Sansa sighed, and nodded, choosing her next words carefully.

"I don't trust this Dragon Queen, she seems to make very brash decisions just to be a conqueror. But, I do trust Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys. T-They helped me in King's Landing." She said, mumbling the last part.

Jon was staring at her, and she could feel it. She swallowed and looked down at the table, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"What do you think we should do, Ser Davos?" Jon asked, folding his hands together.

"First off, if we can get this Dragon Queen on our side, it'll make all the difference in the world against the others. However, I don't think we should bend the knee to her. Lady Sansa is right, the rumors of the Dothraki are legend, they'll pillage the land and burn the strongholds, she may have them at her command, but they've always done what they pleased."

Sansa smiled a little at the older man, glad that someone was on her side.

"Not only that your Grace," Lord Cerwyn finally spoke, "But the North will not take kindly to Southern rule again. Look at what became of your father, your brother, your grandfather and uncle. They all died at the Southerners behest. We cannot allow it again. The North will not follow this woman. No matter her dragons."

Jon nodded.

"What if she does not listen?" He asked them, getting nothing in response.

"We can broker an alliance with her. I doubt she'll want anymore trouble, two parts of the Kingdom in open rebellion against her, she came here for an easy victory, she won't get one with the North wanting her head." Lord Manderly said, "Plus, she needs to turn her attention to where the real threat is."

"Yes. We need her as an ally." Lady Lyanna spoke up again, "We do not need her as our Queen."

 

After a little bit more negotiations, the meeting had come to a close, and the Lord's and Lady Mormont excused themselves for a bit of rest.

Sansa stood up, brushing off her skirts, her eye catching Jon as she left the room.

As she walked down the hall, she thought of this Queen of Mereen, was she beautiful? Was she more beautiful than Sansa? How juvenile for her thoughts to run in such a silly direction.

Opening the door to her solar, she went over to the fire, stoking it, shivering slightly. The weather had picked up considerably, the snow pounding the outside of the castle.

They had to switch out guards every few hours, so the one's standing atop the gates would not freeze to death. Sansa spent a lot of her time in the kitchens with two of the cooks, trying to learn how to make preparations for the coming storms. She also sewed, and mended a lot of the banner-men's clothing that became worn and torn during the ferocious weather. She also started to tend to the wounded, stitching up deep gashes, and cleaning out dirtied scrapes.

It really was something that Sansa knew would come in handy one day.

Hopefully not too soon.

As she picked up her sewing circle, a small knock at her door drew her head up.

"Yes?"

"May I come in Sansa?"

It was Jon.

Sansa felt her hands begin to sweat, the fire suddenly becoming too hot for her.

"Y-Yes." She responded, taking a deep breath in.

The heavy door opened slowly, displaying a dark head of curls, Jon looked around and finally stepped through, closing the door shut behind him.

Silence.

He stood just staring at her, Sansa could not deny the fact that it made her feel...strange. Ever since the kiss that night her dreams had been strange, her thoughts had been strange.

Everything was strange now.

"I-I, I don't know how to start this." Jon began, his eyes never falling directly on her own.

Silence.

"Jon. Say your peace." She said to him, getting rather irritated at him.

He nodded, "I want you to tell me what happened. I can't remember. Please, if I did something to harm you, or offend you, I need you to tell me Sansa. _Please_."

She looked down at her sewing project, deftly laying it down. Sighing, she folded her arms together, feeling the warmth in her belly at the memory of him kissing her.

"Well, I went to your room to tell you that the men up on the gates needed to be changed around, so they didn't get hypothermia."

Jon nodded.

"When I came upon you, you were already very drunk."

Jon swallowed, but nodded.

"I-I, You, -sigh- you kissed me," She finished.

Silence.

Silence.

"I'm so sorry Sansa." He said to her, fighting the self-hatred flaring up within him.

She moved her eyes to clash with his, the same fire clenching her stomach again.

"Please, tell me true Jon, is this why you have been so distant from me?"

His dark eyes pleaded with hers, as if to say please don't ask me that question. Sansa knew the answer, knew it, but wanted to hear him say it.

"Yes." He whispered, his throat constricting with emotion. "It's perverted, and it's wrong. But, I've felt it ever since we stood in that camp talking about Ramsay, I've felt it since my eyes rested on you at Castle Black. Damnit Sansa." He said, swallowing thickly. Running a shaky hand through his curls, he looked down at the stone floor.

Sansa didn't move, didn't speak, only sat and watched the labored breathing from the man in front of her.

Silence.

"I have shamed you. There are no words I can say, no apology that can be made to really show you how sorry I am." He said to her, his almost black eyes dark, haunted.

Silence.

Sansa bit her lip.

"I never said you shamed me." She whispered.

Jon felt his blood run hot in his veins, his heart starting to pound.

"W-What?"

Sansa looked at him fully, seeing his chest rise and fall from the adrenaline that coursed through him. His cheeks were tinged with red, his eyes wide.

"I never said you shamed me." She repeated.

Standing up now, she walked over to where she was in front of him, she did not miss the flinch as he backed up a little bit.

Reaching her hand out, she clutched his hand, drawing it to her cheek, placing it upon her soft flesh.

"You are a man Jon Snow, I have seen you. I have seen you beat my enemies senseless, have watched the rage take hold of your body, and I've also seen the humor take control of your face. You are so strong, your skin marred with the scars of your past. For all I am, I have never seen a man in passion, not true passion. And I have been married twice."

Sansa then stood back, her hands reaching back to grab the laces of her gown.

"I watched you in that tent as our labored breathing reached each other. Not only on an emotional level, but a physical level."

Her laces to her gown were undone, and she shrugged the material off of her shoulders.

Jon's eyes were hazed over, his lower lip trembling, his dark orbs trying not to trail down her lithe form.

"I know you felt it, I know your fingers trembled to touch me, to take me against that table until the sun arose and you rode off into battle."

Jon made a choking sound.

Sansa shrugged her shift off, letting it fall down beneath her legs.

Her small clothes were the only thing separating her from her nudity now.

"I know you wanted to touch me on the battlements when you kissed my forehead."

Her fingers were under the fabric, and then she tugged it free, letting the last remains slip down her skin.

Silence.

Silence.

"Jon. Tell me, do you want to touch me now?"

 

Cliff hanger.

Thank you for all who have stayed around. Things have calmed down here, thank goodness, and thank you all for your well wishes. :)

Will probably update on Thursday.

Love all,

Heather.


	9. A little note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little note. A reason to why I haven't written...

Hello to all that have kept up with my story, believe me I have not given up on it. I've had some things happen to me over the last couple of days, some rather personal things that have happened. I apologize fully for not updating, but the next chapter is being written, I actually had a good majority of it written before things went a little sour. Anyway, I hope you have not given up on my story, I will update this week for sure. 

Love,   
Heather.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The temptation was too great, it always had been..
> 
> This chapter is for mature audiences. *Lemon ahead*

Jon wasn't sure if his chest could constrict anymore.

Sansa stood naked in front of him, the flames dancing off her body, lighting every nook and cranny to his eyes. It made his cock twitch.

"Sansa...please." He rasped out, feeling his heart thud so ferociously he was afraid it would stop.

Her blue eyes though, they were steel. She then started to walk towards him again, her nipples puckering due to a little bit of cold air that wafted through the room due to the cracks under the door.

"Please?" She said, touching his hand, making him jump.

" _Please_. I can't..we can't...we shouldn't.." He almost begged her.

Damnit, the words were getting stuck in his throat, his hands were trembling, wanting desperately to touch her.

Sansa gripped his hand and moved it towards her chest, laying it upon her breast.

Jon groaned, squeezing the soft flesh.

"I feel strange, Jon. I've never felt this way towards a man before. I-I've never had a fire within me due to looking at a man. Is this normal?" She questioned him, her beautiful chest was flushed and heaving, her breast rising and falling in his hand.

"Yes, dear girl. Yes. It's normal."

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, feeling warmth rush to her nether region.

Jon could take it no more and grabbed her shoulders, shoving her against him.

His lips crashed upon hers, his hands going to her red tresses, digging his fingers in, tilting her head back so he could devour her fully. Sansa reacted as strongly as he did, battling his tongue with hers.

She was suddenly backed against her wall, shivering at the cold cement. Feeling fingers dig into her hips, she gasped as Jon raised her, making her squeeze her legs around his hips, her breasts pushed against his chest. Jon then turned, gently spreading her against her bed, his mouth never once leaving her own.

Sansa felt the rush in her nether regions even more so now.

After a few more minutes of their lips crashing against one another, he pulled away from her, panting quickly. His lips were red, swollen, and parted slightly.

"Sansa."

Her name made her swallow, anxiety setting in for what he would say to her. She honestly thought she'd die if he pulled away from her right now. She needed him, _really_ needed him.

She then felt his hand run down her stomach, stopping at her thatch of red curls that laid between her thighs. His brown eyes looked into her blue ones, asking silent permission if he could bring her pleasure. Sansa smiled, arching her back towards his hand, delighted that he had actually asked what she had wanted.

She had never experienced that before.

Pushing that thought aside, she knew that thought process would only spoil this moment for them.

She felt his warm fingers play with her womanhood, precisely the little nub that poked out of her lips. Biting her lip, she arched her hips up higher, wanting more pressure in that precise area.

"Yes." She gasped, "Yes, there."

Then, he dipped his middle finger inside of her, hearing the gasp that flowed out of her mouth.

"Is that alright sweet Sansa?"

She nodded, moaning quietly.

Jon continued to rub her clit, watching her facial expressions turn to simple need at what he was doing.

Sansa was biting her lip, feeling the heat rise within her, pushing behind her naval. She started to whimper, shaking her head, her hips rising and falling in no particular rhythm now, the want for her orgasm too great to try to control.

"P-Please, Jon, oh, OH!" Her hips then crashed up towards his hand, her legs and thighs quivering so hard they were starting to feel like jelly.

Jon watched her cum for him, his cock twitching painfully, wanting to bury himself inside her so deeply he would never emerge.

Sansa was breathing deeply, feeling the euphoria wash over her. Her chest was heaving still, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Jon sat up, putting his head in his hands, his cock throbbing painfully in his breaches.

"J-Jon, you can enter me if you'd like to." Sansa's innocent voice broke through the haze.

That statement did not help him at all. Clenching his teeth, he shook his head, not turning to look at her naked form watching his nervousness.

"I cannot, Sansa. I can't ruin you anymore than I already have." He muttered, standing up now, starting to pace.

Sansa bit her lip, fumbling for her shift, shrugging it on. She did not want to have this conversation while she was naked.

"What's wrong? Why do you think you've ruined me?"

Jon looked at her, his eyes black in the shadows starting to dance across her room. "Sansa, what we're doing is a sin."

Glaring at him, she shook her head and sighed.

Jon watched as she grabbed her dress, pulling it back over her shoulders to adjust it back to her form. "Well Jon, I'm sorry I forced myself upon you. I'm sorry that you see this as nothing more than a perversion."

The man shook his head, moving to grab her wrist, wanting to make her listen. "Sansa, damn you, that's not what I meant!"

She wrenched herself free, matching his glare with hers. "You think I care that what I'm doing is a sin!? I've lived my entire life doing the right thing as a girl, and once I thought I had gotten what I wanted, it turned out to be horrible and a total nightmare! I've been beaten, raped, tortured, molested, you think I care anymore about sin and honor!?"

Sansa's shouts were bouncing off the chamber walls, but she did not care, it felt like all her wounds were bleeding out again, making her feel wild with fright and passion.

"I've watched as my father was killed before me! I got to marry the uncle of the boy who tortured me and stripped me bare in front of the Lord's and Ladies of King's Landing! I got to witness a flayed woman bound to a cross just for assisting me in my own home!" Her chest was heaving at this point, wanting to ignore the shame that was melted onto Jon's expression.

It left her feeling bad that she had unleashed on him.

Silence.

Sansa would not cry. It had never done her any good.

Silence.

"Sansa." His deep voice grew closer, his fingers gripping her forearm gently, turning her to where she faced him now.

"Jon." She said to him, her eyes finally looking into his own.

He waited for her to continue on with what she wanted to say.

"We are the only two left that we know of. Arya and Bran are out there somewhere, but God's know where. All this tragedy that has befallen us, when we were good people to...Do you really care if what we're doing is a sin?"

Jon just stared at her, turning her question over in his mind. Well, did it bother him? After all that he had been through, all that he had seen, after coming back from the dead...did he feel like he still had his honor? Did he feel whole?

Sansa was going to take his long silence as his answer, when she felt his hand leave her arm and make its way down to the ties of his breaches. His eyes weren't leaving hers, which made her heart accelerate against her breast bone, her heated blue eyes watching him as he pulled his breaches down, his small clothes beneath. Sansa removed her dress again, her small clothes following afterwards.

After some time, they stood in front of each other, naked as the day they were born.

Their fingers traced each other, their lips meeting in a dance of tongues and hot gasps.

Sansa felt his fingers on her ribcage, his left hand folding over her breast. She moaned, feeling herself be backed into the opposite wall, her butt brushing the cold stones...again.

Jon's hand traced her sides, then her thighs, then cupped her sex, making her gasp and arch towards him. Sansa melded her lips with his again, finally taking notice of the hard jab she was getting on her inner thigh. Breaking the contact, she looked down, seeing his male appendage jutting forwards to trail scalding paths of liquid on her flesh.

She was honestly very curious about how it felt. Reaching downwards she cupped it in her hand, thumbing the top where the liquid pooled out at the head. Jon gasped sharply, thrusting into her hand, making her draw back, afraid that she had hurt him.

"S-Sorry." She said, hoping he wasn't in too much pain.

Jon looked at her, confusion on his face, "Why are you apologizing? You didn't hurt me Sansa."

She just looked down again, confused now as well, her eyes catch the throbbing member again, "I thought I had squeezed too hard, I-I'm rather new to this."

Jon tilted her head to look into his eyes, his lips melding with hers once again, Sansa groaned, taking hold of his cock, this time firmly stroking the base of it, trailing downwards. She relished in the throaty moans that tore from the man in front of her.

She suddenly felt his hand latch onto hers and shove it away, pushing her form harder into the wall. His other hand went to her shoulder, spinning her around to where she now faced the wall, his cock now pressing against her buttocks. Sansa had to admit it felt so wanton, it made her flush from head to toe.

Jon looked at the woman below him, her long expanse of neck exposed for him to bite and lick. Gripping her hair, he flung the silky strands over her right shoulder, his hands going around her sides to cup her breasts while his mouth attacked her smooth flesh.

"Ah." Sansa moaned, the heat pooling in her belly.

Jon trailed kisses down to where her spine was, sucking softly.

"P-Please Jon." She begged him, not really sure what she was begging for exactly.

"Please what?" He demanded.

"Touch me, p-please." She whimpered, trying to shove his hands downward.

Hm, Jon had a better idea.

His hands left her breasts to grip her hips and spin her back around, making her gasp out of surprise at his actions. Jon wasted no time though, as soon as she was facing him his lips closed over her nipple, sucking gently.

Sansa moaned, rubbing her legs together to get rid of some of the friction.

Jon smirked at her actions, his mouth trailing lower to where he was now face to face with her belly button.

Lower...lower...

He was now facing her cunt, his eyes drinking in the red hair that laid over what he wanted to devour.

Sansa stared down at his dark curls, knowing what he wanted to do. She had heard that some men liked to do this to women, she just had never stumbled upon it before.

"Yes." She whimpered, feeling her wetness rub off onto her thighs.

Jon pried them open, gripping her thighs in the process, trailing down to grip her knee so her leg could fall over his shoulder.

Sansa jerked when she felt his warm mouth cover her. Gods...what was he doing to her? Then, she felt him lift her off of the wall, dropping her onto the edge of the bed, his head going back to lick at her cunt, moaning as he did so.

He was knelt before her, his tongue sliding in and out of her entrance. It was so...erotic.

His eyes were latched with hers as well, making that little coil in her stomach tighten and tighten when suddenly his mouth enclosed over her clit, and then...it snapped, making her stomach clench with the most unbelievable feeling that had even befallen her. She arched off the bed, her head thrown back, her breasts shuddering due to her peak being so ferocious.

 

After her come down, she looked down at Jon, who was panting between her thighs, his lips tracing her knee cap, his dark eyes clouded over. Sansa's eyes caught his straining erection, knowing what she wanted to do with it.

Shoving against his shoulders, she stood on shaky feet, moving herself to where she now stood in front of him. He wore a questionable look which made her want to snigger a little bit. Sansa raised an eyebrow, then shoved his chest, making him fall breathlessly across her bed.

Wasting no time, she crawled up him slowly, her long hair smoothing over his skin as well.

"San-."

She cupped her hand over his mouth, shaking her head.

His eyes followed her movements as she reached down and gripped his cock, aligning it at her entrance. She felt him jolt, and he thrust into her hand out of blatant reaction to her cooler skin touching his burning appendage.

Sansa wanted this control, wanted to be able to sink herself onto his cock and fuck him herself.

She took him in, inch by inch, watching his eyes roll into the back of his head when she sat herself fully upon him, her buttocks on his thighs now. Sansa rolled her hips, gripping her thighs to give herself leverage to move herself up and down his shaft at a quick place. He seemed to enjoy this because his hands whipped out to grip her hips almost painfully.

"Gods." He mumbled, breathing in through his nostrils loudly. His hips were moving with hers, trying to keep up with her fast pace. Sansa herself was starting to lose control of her rhythm, feeling his cock hit the same spot that his finger had.

She continued her vicious assault on his cock, but this time leaned herself back to where her hands were grabbing his ankles, exposing her cunt to him, giving him a full view of his cock sliding in and out of her.

It was enough as he almost roared his fingers digging into her flesh as he emptied himself inside of her. Sansa moved faster, almost over the hill, his hearty groan pushing her over the edge finally.

 

They laid together afterwards, the silence filling the room. There was no going back after this, hell, maybe there was no going back even before this. The emotions that swirled through Sansa were very foreign to her, making her shut her eyes, not wanting to think on the matter at the moment.

Jon was absentmindedly stroking her hair, fully satisfied with what had just happened between the two of them.

"We cannot let this get out. They can think what they want of me, but I won't have them saying anything disrespectful behind your back." Jon said, opening his eyes to look at her finally.

Sansa sighed and nodded, feeling the disappointment rush through her now. That was a normal feeling.

It was always a normal feeling for her now..

 

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Much love,  
Heather.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karstark wedding celebration, *lemon ahead*

Sansa sat in the Great Hall, laughing at the guests that were dancing around the room. Most of the men leading their ladies were drunk, getting a little bit too far into their ale due to the Karstarks wedding celebration. As she looked about, she noticed that Jon was talking to Tormund, a mug of ale at his own lips. He seemed to really be enjoying himself.

Especially with Alys Karstark.

He had danced with the newlywed several times that night, the girls smiles making Sansa roll her eyes and look away. She knew it was asinine to get jealous over a woman that had _just_ been married, but Sansa could not help it.

Shaking her head of those thoughts her eyes roamed the room even further, taking in the men who did not have dance partners, and those who were flirting with several of the maids and cooks. Rolling her eyes, she slumped in her chair, fingering her goblet of wine.

"My Lady." A calm voice spoke, making her jump slightly. She turned around haughtily, meaning to scold the person who had frightened her.

The stable boy George.

"I'm sorry My Lady! It was not my intention to startle you. I-I.." He was stammering, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks glowing with embarrassment. Sansa snickered this time, feeling sorry for the poor lad.

Clearing his throat, he stood up straighter, "I only wanted to ask if you would like to dance?"

She looked at him for a moment, pondering over his question. Yes, she really _did_ want to dance. But, not with him. She had wanted Jon to ask her to dance, but he was busy doing his Kingly duties and talking to their swarm of guests. She herself had moved around the room, talking and gushing over the _beautiful_ bride for most of the night. She wanted to have her own merriment.

Smiling, she nodded and extended her hand. George smiled himself and took it gently, lifting her to her feet.

Sansa was a little bit taller than George, it was not surprising, she was a bit taller than most of the people around her. Well, not Tormund, or Brienne.

George put his hand on her hip, gripping her left hand with his own left. Sansa smiled a little bit, moving her feet around to where they were now moving about the room in time with the other couples.

 

Jon was saying something to one of the Free Folk when Tormund raised his eyebrows and let out a loose chuckle, "Well Snow, it looks like the lass is having a good time."

The younger male turned around, slightly confused to who he was referring to.

Sansa.

And she was dancing with that stable-boy.

Jon suddenly felt hot jealousy course through his veins at the little giggles Sansa was giving the boy. Narrowing his eyes, he turned back to the Wildling, trying to push the jealous thoughts out of his mind.

"Want to show him how a crow dances?" Tormund asks, making Jon splutter on the ale he was about to choke down. Looking up, his brown eyes clashed with Tormund's blue one's, an odd silence cutting through the air.

What did he mean by that?

"Sansa deserves to have a bit of fun." Jon finally spoke, an uncomfortable feeling washing over him. Did Tormund know something? Had he heard something? Surely not...he would have said _something_ to Jon.

Still, the feeling of heated jealousy rushed through him quickly, and he turned back to the dancing pair, to see them now moving to a slower fiddle song.

No.

Strolling forward, he calmly walked over to them, catching Sansa's eye. Her smile wavered, her lips now turning down into a frown.

Jon stopped beside them, tapping on _George's_ shoulder. Immediately stopping, the boy turned and looked at Jon, and he suddenly jumped back from Sansa. "Y-Your Grace, c-can I help you?" He bowed slightly, looking between the two Starks.

"Not at all George, I was just wondering if I could cut in? I haven't gotten to see my sister for the majority of the night. Would that be alright with you?"

George bowed his head, nodded, and then turned a smile to Sansa. He walked over to her, not breaking eye contact, reaching down, he gripped her hand and pressed his lips against her soft skin, "You dance beautifully My Lady. I hope to have this pleasure again."

Jon grit his teeth together, looking away from them.

Sansa felt uncomfortable as well, seeing Jon glare at the lad in her peripheral vision. Grinning broadly, she thanked George and bid him farewell, finally turning her attentions to Jon.

And he looked furious.

His brown eyes were dilated, swimming in the blackness of his pupils. There was a tick in his temple, his teeth grit together so tightly Sansa was afraid they'd all fall out due to the pressure he was putting on them.

Silence.

"Well brother, are we going to dance? We cannot stand here in the middle of the floor, we'll get ran over." She tried to joke, looking around in haste.

Jon just stared at her, then smiled wickedly, extending his hand to her own. Sansa looked down at his extended appendage, honestly afraid of taking it, sensing his obvious anger growing only higher towards her.

She laid her soft hand in his and flinched when he squeezed her fingers together, pulling her towards him roughly.

They moved around the room, picking up to the loud tunes that were now being played.

As they spun around, she felt his grip tighten on her hand. Gasping, she also felt his fingers dig into her hips, making her moan with pain.

"Would you stop that! I was only dancing with him for a couple of minutes." She bit out at him, trying to mull things over.

Jon just raised a brow, not saying anything to her statement.

Silence, save for the music.

"Besides, you've spent most of your time talking to the Free-Folk, and dancing with Alys Karstark." She snapped at him, her feet moving in time with his own, her blue eyes glaring into his face.

"Aye. That was my duty! I didn't enjoy it!" He snapped himself, stopping to twirl her.

Sansa spun in a circle, gasping when his grip on her waist grew even tighter, his palm curving over her left one to keep them twirling about the room.

"Oh yes, you looked like a sword was at your throat! You danced with her _several_ times Jon. Duty my arse!"

He growled and suddenly stopped, the music coming to a close around them. Moving back, he continued to glare at her, but his eyes never left her own. He bowed lightly, almost mockingly, then spun and plopped himself down at the King's table, grasping a goblet of wine, choking it down.

Sansa was embarrassed. Looking around, she clapped with the others. The happiness leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

Davos was watching the _brother and sister_ as they danced in a heated rage about the room. It looked like a lovers quarrel, he noticed the way the King's hands clenched on Lady Sansa's hip, and how she squirmed when he did so. Frowning slightly, he raised the goblet to his lips, feeling unease wash over his person.

What was going on between the two of them?

 

Jon was finally walking towards his chambers, rather drunk as well. The whole evening had been somewhat enjoyable, until Sansa decided to dance with that little twat from the stables.

Damnable woman.

Upon reaching his door, his guards bowed lightly to him, nodding their heads.

Gods, Jon hated that. He hated having guards _placed_ at his door as if he couldn't take care of himself. It was absolutely tedious, and unnecessary. Sighing heavily, he opened his door, strolling into his chambers, slamming the oaken wood shut behind him. Stopping, he noticed the red headed woman standing in front of his fireplace, glaring into the flames.

Sansa.

Upon seeing him, she uncrossed her arms and stared at him, her blue eyes shining with anger.

Grabbing at his tunic, he ripped the buttons open, throwing the offending garment off of his person.

"Do you have something to say to me?" She snapped at him, watching his movements carefully.

He continued to say nothing though, his eyes never leaving hers. He fumbled with his breeches, and this time, Sansa moved back, gulping.

Jon managed to rid himself of his offending garments and then looked at her once again.

The only thing Sansa could elicit was a tiny squeak before Jon was ascending upon her, his hands gripping her waist again, this time thrusting her against his chest. His hands roughly grabbed her chin, smashing his lips onto hers. Sansa was breathless as his tongue assaulted her mouth, prying her lips open to get in deeper.

He continued this onslaught, then suddenly pulled away, his fingers trailing up her back to fidget with the laces on her dress gown. After a bit, when he couldn't get them to cooperate with him, he pulled at them, the dress making a ripping noise as he pulled it off of her form, his lips attacking hers again. Sansa at this point should have been frightened, should have been furious at him for _ruining_ her beautiful garment, but the only thing she felt was heat.

And it was not from the fire.

Jon quickly pulled the rest of her clothing off, not stopping until she was nude in front of him.

When she was, he moved her backwards, where they were both away from the door, his eyes drinking her in as he laid her across the table, his fingers digging into her flesh.

Silence. Unbearable heated silence that made Sansa quiver..

"Sweet Sansa, did you enjoy your dance with the little stable boy?" The question was laced with malice as he gripped her hips, aligning himself at her entrance. Sansa bit her lip, shaking her head, feeling his manhood press against her opening, her thighs shaking as they hung at his hips.

He leaned above her, his chest pressing tightly against her breasts, his hands weaving into her hair to curve into fists. Sansa whimpered, arching her back, feeling the heat from his cock start to pulse against her.

"N-No."

Then, he thrust his hips forward, making Sansa gasp loudly.

In a single movement, he was sheathed entirely inside of her.

She felt like he was drinking her in, his irises flashing in the firelight, making her blood hum with fire of her own.

"Liar." He grit out, his hips shoving against hers slowly, almost at an agonizing slow rate. Sansa started to circle her hips in time with his movements, trying her hardest not to beg him to go faster.

She would _never_ beg.

Would she?

Suddenly, he pulled out of her, making her groan.

He gripped her arms, pulling her forward, then spun her around to where her breasts mashed against his desk, her hips pushed upwards, her cunt bared in the firelight for him. Sansa felt the wood press into her flesh as her cheek laid against the smooth top of the desk.

"You'll tell me the truth sweet girl, won't you?" Jon questioned darkly, testing her.

Sansa whimpered again, arching, wanting him to continue with what he was doing before.

"I-I wasn't." She said, hearing him sigh.

She felt his fingers at her entrance, softly pressing against it, making her want to scream due to frustration.

"Tell me Sansa, do you enjoy my fingers pressed against your cunt?"

The question sent a shudder through her, but she nodded her head, realizing he couldn't see her do so.

"Y-Yes." She answered, "Yes, please. Jon, please."

Chuckling, he continued to tease her, only pushing his fingers a little bit harder, not fully entering her.

Sansa was growing tired of this teasing, when suddenly a thought came to mind. If Jon was like any flesh and blood male, he would hate when she talked fondly over another man, especially in their current position. Growing bold, she cleared her throat.

"Yes Jon, I did enjoy dancing with him. I wanted to continue our little...tryst, but you had to cut in."

Silence.

Sansa suddenly felt his hands at her hips, then felt his lips bite into the lobe of her ear. Wincing, she bit her lip, feeling the heat pool in her lower belly again.

"Is that so?" He questioned, thrusting roughly, causing Sansa to flinch at the intrusion.

He then roughly grabbed her hips and continued to thrust into her at a quick pace. Sansa herself felt the pleasure well up within her cunt, trying hard not to make any loud noises.

Jon was furious as he basically violated her against his desk, throwing his head back when he felt her start to shudder, her cunt taking in his cock with ease, her pink walls wet and slick with arousal.

Sansa felt it, the release building.

_Just a little more._

Jon reached around her, pushing his fingers against her wet clit, listening to her little grunts and whimpers of pleasure as incoherent words fell from her mouth. He then felt her walls shudder with such ferocity that he had to hold onto her hips harder to stay sheathed inside her tightness. Jon himself was approaching his peak not long afterwards, his arousal hitting his peak feeling her walls clamp down on him.

Sansa was panting beneath him, little tendrils of sweaty hair clinging to her forehead due to their intense mating.

She felt him tense roughly as he grunted in what seemed like pain, then convulsed inside of her, collapsing onto her back, laying his forehead on her skin.

They were panting together now, the silence of the room consuming them.

 

 

Okay ya'll, short chapter, but I have a lot planned for the next one. I wanted to get Alys Karstark married, but not center it too much around her.

Tell me what you think!

-Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa was afraid what would become of him..

Hello everybody! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this story, I got a little bit stuck, but I've gotten back into doing my videos, and I sat down last night and thought about where I wanted this story to go, and what the endgame would ultimately be.

I hope you can forgive me!

Enjoy ya'll.

Oh and if you want to see Sansa/Jon videos, I have a YouTube account called TheWolves24 as well.

Thank you.

 

OOOOO

 

Sansa sat in her solar, threading a needle through a tunic that Jon had ripped fighting men in the courtyard. Why couldn’t he ever watch what he was doing? She probably hemmed three tunics a week now. That man, he just could not sit still.

Who could anymore?

They had sent a letter off to this Dragon Queen, and had gotten an answer from her, telling Jon to come and meet her in Dragonstone. But for some reason, this left a burning in Sansa’s stomach, an uncomfortable feeling settling over her quickly.

Was it jealousy?

Sansa wasn’t that sure. She had never really been jealous of any woman, not at all actually.

She had been jealous of their freedom, but not of _them_ per say.

But, she couldn’t tell Jon. He had enough on his mind without her making things all the more complicated.

Sansa knew though, she knew this relationship that was going on between them, she knew it was unnatural.

And she felt that it bothered him.

Ever since their…night together after the wedding ceremony, he had not visited her any more. And she did not visit him either. There were to many feelings that she had to sort through, and she guessed the same applied to him as well.

Sighing, she drew the last of the thread to her teeth, and bit the end, moving her fingers to tie it off tightly.

 

Jon was in his chambers, staring into the fire. His thoughts were momentarily on the letter that he received from this Daenerys Targaryen.

She wanted him to go to Dragonstone, so they could meet and talk about the future steps towards the current goals of the realm, their _goals._

Well, _her_ goals, ultimately. He hadn’t even met this woman, and he could tell that she was hungry for the pull of the Iron Throne. He had no use of it, he had no _want_ of it. All he wanted to do was defeat the Knight’s King and return to Winterfell.

And probably sleep for the next few months.

But, he also wanted…

Closing his eyes, his jaw tensed as he thought of the maddening woman that lived not too far away from him down the hall.

Sansa.

Yes, he wanted her to.

He wanted her all the time.

But, he wasn’t sure if it was _right._ What if someone were to find out about them? What would become of them? Of her?

He was afraid for her future. All he wanted to do was keep her out of harm’s way.

Ever since she had arrived at Castle Black, and she had run into his arms, all he wanted to do was keep her safe.

And now, after everything that had happened between them, he wasn’t sure what the next step was. Or, how to take it.

Sighing loudly, he put the pint of ale up to his lips and took a big gulp. For right now, he needed to think of what to do about this Dragon Queen.

 

OOOOO

 

Sansa lay in bed that night, her eyes fully open, her mind going a hundred miles per hour.

Jon.

Jon.

_Jon._

She was afraid for him. She was afraid that once he went to Dragonstone and met this woman, he would never come back to Winterfell. Those who left here, didn’t seem to return.

She refused to cry, it had _never_ gotten her anywhere.

But, then, she was extremely angry, angry at him, and angry at herself for thinking that he would not talk to her about leaving.

Sitting up quickly, she plucked up her robe and flung it over her shoulders, gliding across her room and down the hallway to his chambers.

 

OOOOO

 

Jon was in the process of looking through the latest letters, when a loud pounding on the door made him glance up.

Who in the world?

Walking over, he clutched the handle and flung the door open, glaring at the obnoxious intruder.

Sansa.

“Dear Gods Sansa, are you looking to wake the entire castle?”

Glaring, she didn’t wait for him to invite her inside, brushing past him she moved to stand by the fire, the cold cobble stones numbing her toes.

“No. I did not intend to wake the castle, but for those who are awake are in for quite the earful.” She started, swinging her long red hair over her shoulder, her fierce glare pinning him to the other side of the room.

“Well. I take it I’ve done something to offend you.” He snapped, sealing the door from any other intruder.

“It seems you aren’t as blind as I originally thought.” She snapped right back, watching the anger spread on his dark features.

This little banter was quite immature.

Sansa knew that, so she sighed and straightened herself up, not wanting to throw clever quips back and forth all night long.

“Why didn’t you talk to me first?” She demanded of him, not bothering to turn it into a soft question, she was not in the mood to make the blow gentle.

Not at all.

“And what, pray tell, are you referring to Sansa? Come out with the _full_ questions, I’m not a bloody mind reader.” He growled, shrugging his tunic off, feeling the heat of the room start to filter into his senses.

“You going to see Daenerys Targaryen!” She hollered, annoyed that he had gotten an attitude that was not needed with her.

Jon rounded on her, clenching his pint of ale in his hands.

“And why does that matter to you?” He questioned her, a storm brewing in his eyes.

“It matters to me because the last time a Stark left Winterfell, most of them died!” She yelled, her eyes widening at his simpleton attitude, not liking that he was so blind and so daft as to not _see_ what her problem was.

“And, who’s to say that you’ll ever _want_ to return?” She lashed out again, “A-Anything to keep you from responsibility and duty. Just like Robb, h-he bedded with a foreign woman, and his men turned on him, getting him and those that followed him killed!”

Jon smiled wickedly, chugging down his ale and throwing the rest of the pint into the fire, the flames searing from the foreign invasion that got flung onto them.

“Aye. There it is. You do not trust me. You didn’t trust me before we fought the Boltons. And you don’t trust me now. After everything we…after everything we’ve been through together.”

Sansa snapped her mouth shut, was that really what her issue was? That she did not trust him?

She didn’t trust that he would meet this woman and nothing would happen between them. But then again, why was that her problem? He was _not_ hers.

“Well say something Sansa.” He said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“There is nothing to say, _nothing_ , but you should have communed with me about what she said in the letter. But, as always, I’m the last to know. And why should I know? I’m the one with the _cunt_ , right? The one who just sews and watches the men in the courtyard battle it out every single day? Why should I be told any _fucking_ thing!”

Jon closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist, watching as she panted after screaming at him.

“I tell you everything! Every. Single. Thing. I keep nothing from you Sansa. What have I done? It is you that _keeps_ things from me! Or don’t you remember?”

Sansa glared into his eyes, feeling the heat of his anger radiate off his body.

“I told you I was sorry for that!” She said to him, trying to tug her wrist out of his steely grip.

“Aye. You did, but that does not keep you from running behind my back and talking to that bastard Littlefinger. Does it Sansa?”

Outraged, she shoved him again, “Get your bloody hands off me!”

He would not let go, she had opened the flood gates, and now there was no stopping them from emptying. Jon had never been so livid, she had no right to come in here and throw what he _had_ to do up in his face. Claiming that he had lied to her, what rubbish.

“You big brute, get your hands off me!” She screamed, shoving him away, gaining distance this time.

Moving towards her again, he caught her small hand before it connected with his cheek. Glaring into her eyes, he swooped and captured her lips with his own, swallowing the frustrated grunts she elicited.

Backing her into the wall, his hands roamed over her body, pulling at the little robe she wore, his fingers fiddling with the front laces, getting it open. Pulling away, he saw her hazy blue eyes stare at him, her lips red from his aggressive kiss.

“You need to trust me.” He told her sternly.

She was trying to gain some distance from him, aggravation and hurt wrapped up into one inside her heart.

“Listen to me Sansa.” He told her, fighting with her flailing wrists.

“No.” She cried, biting her lip, managing to shove him away.

Jon stopped, seeing her holding back her tears. He studied Sansa’s face, her features were closed up, and her eyes were distant.

The silence closed in around them, and Sansa felt so foolish. Adjusting herself, she looked at him fully now, seeing the distress cross his features, the tenseness of the moment fall on his shoulders.

“I’m afraid.” She told him, sounding like a weak child.

She hated it. She hated to admit that she was afraid.

“What are you afraid of?” Jon asked, genuinely perplexed at her attitude.

“O-Of you not coming back.”

He just stared at her, not knowing what to say to that revelation. How could she doubt him? He was honestly very confused.

“Why wouldn’t I come back Sansa?”

She sniffled, placing herself on the bed, fiddling with her robe ties, not wanting to answer his question.

“You never wanted to be king, you never wanted to be the lord of Winterfell, and once you get there, and you meet this dragon woman, who’s to say that you won’t want to stay with her, and not come back here?”

Her voice wavered with emotion and the last of her sentence flitted off, but Jon understood what she was trying to say.

“Sansa.” He answered, his voice soft.

She remained motionless, playing with her ties still.

“Sansa, look at me.” Sitting beside her, Jon took her cold hand with his own warm one.

Hesitating slightly, she turned and looked into his eyes, feeling comforted by the warmth of his stare.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t _want_ to go, I’d much rather stay here and fight with you.” At that comment, Sansa smiled a little bit, sniffling.

“Aye. You're right, I did not want to be the king, but I know where my place is, and that is here with you, with the north, and with Winterfell. I’ve learned my lesson in putting family and _home_ below my thirst for _belonging._ ”

Sansa nodded, feeling a little better.

“And you’re also worried about this Daenerys? You’re jealous?” He questioned, smirking a little bit.

Glaring, she let go of his hand and huffed, looking away.

“Don’t be like that.” He told her gently, touching a tendril of her hair and twirling it between his fingers.

“Dear girl. Don’t you know that I only want you? Do you see this?” He held up a piece of her auburn hair in front of her eyes.

Swallowing, she nodded, feeling heat pool in her belly suddenly.

“I prefer red.” He told her huskily.

Sansa stared at him, then leaned forward and claimed his lips with her own.

He felt like home.

She didn’t want to let him go.

But she knew she had to.

 

 

More to come.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage for alliances are discussed and Tormund is told something.

Here's another chapter ya'll. I hope you enjoy it!

-Heather.

 

OOOOO

 

“You leave in a week’s time.” Sansa said to Jon, painfully staring at his back as he stuffed some letters into drawers.

“Aye.” He replied, not wanting to look at her, due to the pain he felt in his chest.

Sansa nodded, sighing loudly.

She wanted to say so much to him, to release so much from her soul. But, she couldn’t, he had to go, for the good of the North.

But, she needed to tell him something important.

The night before she laid in bed, thoughts and ideas scrambling about like marbles. How would Jon convince this Dragon Queen to aid them?

What could be offered in return?

Then, an idea flew into her brain, one that made her eyes water and her stomach clench with agony.

_Marriage._

The marriage between Jon and the Dragon Queen, it would seal alliances and hold stability between the North and South without them having to bend the knee.

A sob welled up in her throat as the burn intensified in her eyes.

She didn’t want that. But, who was she to say what Jon did. He was the King, and he would have to do what was right for his people in the end.

Sansa shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the forefront, her back was turned to Jon, and she was wringing her hands.

“J-Jon.” She started, clearing her throat.

He watched her, noticing the tenseness in her shoulders.

Something was wrong.

“What is it, Sansa?” He asked her, worry creeping up his spine.

Taking a deep breath through her nostrils, she steadied herself, swallowing the bile in her throat.

Turning, she looked into his face, seeing sadness stamped there, it made the ball of anguish in her heart clench so hard that she sobbed.

“Sansa.” He said, stronger this time, getting up to grasp her face with his big hands.

“No. I have to say this. Please.” She begged him, trying to get herself together.

He was confused.

“Jon. This woman might ask f-for…marriage.” She said to him, the tears falling freely now. She could be weak in front of him.

 _Only_ him though.

“Why would she need to ask for marriage Sansa?” Jon asked, feeling dread start to take over his own body.

“To seal an alliance. She’ll want the North. She won’t agree to take over the seven kingdoms with one large portion of the kingdom missing.” She told him, gripping the fingers that framed her face.

Jon didn’t want to consider this option. He did not want to marry a woman he did not know. He most certainly did not want to live in that shit hole King’s Landing, the place where his father lost his head.

“I won’t do it.” He told her firmly, jerking away angrily.

“Jon. You canno-,”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” He yelled at her, his voice catching on the emotion that rose in his chest.

Sansa snapped her mouth shut.

“I will _not_ be told what to do. Not anymore!” He roared again, slapping his pint of ale onto the floor roughly.

She jumped a little at his move, but did not leave her spot. All she did was stare at him, his chest heaving, his eyes unfocused and hazy.

“I don’t want you to.” She whispered, feeling the tears well up again.

He looked at her sadly.

“But, you cannot refuse her. She will-she’ll take her anger out on the North.” She finished, seeing the aggravation set back onto his features.

He plopped himself down, placing his head in his hands.

Silence.

_Silence._

“I joined the Knight’s watch, being told vows that I had to follow, or be beheaded. I shall have no wife, no children, no lands, basically _nothing_. Then, as Lord Commander, I was told I could not help the Free Folk, I could not _help_ anyone. Then, I was killed. After, I was told _no_ time and time again by leaders of the Northern houses.”

He stopped talking, but Sansa knew he was not done.

“I’ve been _told_ what to do for years now. Who I can and cannot love. What I can and cannot do. I’m tired of it. I am the King.” He said, standing up straight, taking on a regal stance that made Sansa give a small smile, “And nobody tells the _King_ what he can do.”

Walking over to her, he grabbed her by her waist, claiming her lips with his own.

“I want you.” He whispered, his brown eyes looking her over, breathing her in.

Sansa smiled sadly, playing with some of his curls.

“Jon. I know you want to do what you think is right. But, I’m telling you that _if_ it comes down to it.” She stopped, swallowing thickly, “Do the right thing for the North.”

Pressing his forehead to hers, he felt the grief in her movements, dowsing the fire in her soul.

“I won’t make any promises.” He said, claiming her lips once again.

 

OOOOO 

 

Jon and Tormund stood on the battlements looking out over the courtyard, watching as the servants and the other Free Folk rebuilt the horse stables.

Tormund looked at the crow, seeing the tension in his shoulders.

“Snow. You needed to talk to me?” The red-haired man started, observing the wince in the younger man’s face.

Silence.

Turning his head, Jon looked over his shoulder, turning his head to see if anyone was on the staircase.

Not finding anyone, he walked back Tormund’s way, keeping a low voice, he started.

“I need you to be my eyes while I’m gone. Sansa…she needs watching over. I don’t trust Petyr Baelish, I don’t trust that he won’t try something while I’m away.” Jon told him, his eyes steely, set in protecting her in any way possible.

Tormund smirked, looking out over the battlement again.

“Something else ye need to tell me, Crow?”

Jon closed his eyes and swallowed, wondering how his friend would react to what he was about to say.

“Out with it.” He told Jon, pushing him to confessing.

“W-We, I, we, I love her.” He rushed out, feeling the same wave of guilt pulse through him, yet again.

Tormund looked at him again, his smirk never leaving his face.

“Aye, and I thought you two were only fucking.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, his face reddening a little bit.

“The night after the wedding ceremony, I needed to speak to you about some Free Folk problems that were happening near Wintertown. You remember the ones with the elders?”

Jon nodded warily, feeling a groan settle in his throat.

“Well, the guard had dozed off, but when I got to the door, I heard…” Stopping to snicker, Tormund ran his right hand through his beard, thinking back thoughtfully.

“I heard a woman’s moan, and some pretty _filthy_ talk from the Lord crow.”

Jon felt the heat rush through his body, embarrassment rolling through him.

“Y-You heard us?” He asked, his throat raspy.

“Oh, aye, I did. Got a good laugh out of it to. Snow, she’s only your half-sibling, one you never spoke to? She’s basically a stranger.”

The words did nothing to help compress the guilt that Jon felt engulf him.

“There were several men in my village that fucked their half-sisters.” Tormund told him, plainly.

Jon shook his head, straightening his body back up again.

“Well, I’m glad you kept this to yourself. If it were to get out…we’d both be in trouble.”

“Fuckin kneelers, always lookin to ruin everybody’s good time.” Tormund said gruffly.

Jon chuckled, wringing his fingers together. “But, I need you to look over her. Brienne, I don’t know when she’ll be back, and I can’t leave her without anyone to look after her. I’m leaving Ghost here, but I need more than that.”

Tormund nodded, walking over and holding out his hand.

Jon looked down at it, taking it lightly.

“I’ll watch her Snow. Your red-haired lass won’t shake me for a minute.”

“Thank you.” Jon smiled.

 

OOOOO

 

Jon laid with Sansa, both of them staring up at his bedroom ceiling.

“I’m not ready to leave you.” He whispered, playing with a tendril of her beautiful hair.

Sansa sighed, trying to lift the dead weight that sat itself on her heart.

“We have to preserve the safety for the North. For you, me, Bran, and Arya. The only important thing now is our family, and our land.” She said, just as softly.

Jon turned towards her, his eyes finding hers in the darkness.

“Sansa. I’ve asked Tormund to look after you while I’m gone. I’m leaving Ghost, but I need more to ensure your safety. I don’t trust Baelish. If he tries anything…”

He stopped talking, standing up, shivering at the coldness of the concrete.

Sansa watched him walk over to his desk, gently opening one of the drawers, fishing something out.

She admired him, the firelight dancing across his pale, beautiful skin. He had such a perfect physique that it made heat rush to the center of her body once again.

Jon felt her eyes on him as he nestled himself back into the bed.

“I had this made for you.” He handed the present to her. “Be careful. It’s very sharp.”

Sansa sat up, taking the small dagger.

“I had a weapon made for Arya, and now, I’m making one for you. You can bind it to your thigh, your hip, wherever you want. It’s easy to wield, and it’s even easier to slide across someone’s throat if they try to harm you.”

Sansa felt a tremble roll through her at his words.

“It’s beautiful, Jon.” She told him, admiring the wolf carving on the handle of the shiny dagger.

“I had the blacksmith work on it for quite a while, he started it as soon as we retook Winterfell. You’re a warrior love, a survivor. I’m asking you to be one again, until I can get back and watch over you once more. Promise me, _promise_ me that you’ll watch your surroundings, and you won’t put yourself in any unnecessary situations.”

Sansa nodded, holding the dagger against her chest.

“If something were to happen to you…” His voice cut off as he cleared his throat, feeling the large lump choke him.

“I promise Jon, I’ll use it if needed.”

He smiled at her, tucking back a loose piece of hair that fell over her cheek.

She smiled back, feeling tears drip down her nose, lips quivering.

Taking her in his arms, he laid both of them down, whispering comforting words into her ear, lulling her to sleep with his deep voice.

 

 

 

Okay! So, now Tormund knows. And guess what, he doesn’t care. Go figure.

Tell me what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa didn't move to open the door when she heard the knocking..

Hello to all, another chapter is here, I hope you enjoy :)

Leave me your ideals, and thoughts so far. Thank you!

 

 

Sansa laid in bed, her face towards the wall, the snow outside falling heavily, matching her mood completely. Huffing loudly, she turned onto her back, envisioning Jon there beside her, playing with her hair, whispering sweet things into her ear. It had been a week since his departure, and Sansa felt like he had taken her heart with him.

That was a ridiculous thought, she knew that.

It was only at night that she let herself be vulnerable to these emotions, throughout her days she was busy restoring Winterfell, and dealing with the Free Folk. The pledged houses weren't giving her much trouble, they had settled down, thank goodness. After Jon's final decision with Alys Karstark, chatter had all but died out.

Closing her eyes, Sansa wished for peace to fall upon her again.

A firm knock on her door made her jump almost off of the bed with alarm.

Who was that? At this time of night no doubt. A low growl split the air, and she watched as Ghost got up from his sleeping spot by the fire and bared his teeth at the sound.

Sansa went over and leaned her ear against the wood, listening to for any whispering voices that sounded strange.

"It's Tormund, lass." The gruff voice called through the entrance, "I'm sorry if I alarmed you. It's a note we've received from the Lord crow."

Sansa gripped the handle and flung open the door without a second thought.

Tormund was standing there, his hands clenched around a piece of paper, his blue eyes hard in the firelight.

For some reason, the tall, broad man before her did not frighten her in the slightest, she knew he would never do anything to harm her, he respected Jon, and Jon him.

"I-Is everything okay? Is anything wrong?" She asked, the last bit of the question clenched in fear, afraid something had happened to Jon.

"No. The letter is to you specifically. I didn't want anybody to get their hands on it. I'm seeing to the mail now, for the Lord crow."

Sansa looked down, but smiled widely, her heart swelling.

"Thank you, Tormund." She said to him, sweetly, reaching to take the letter from him.

Bowing his head, he let it go and turned his back to her.

"I've taken the room just down the hall, your _brother_ wanted me closer to where you stay. If that is alright with you?"

"Jon told me what he said to you before he left. I'll try my hardest to stay out of trouble." She told him, earning a sharp nod from the Free Folk leader, and at that he walked away, disappearing into the darkened hallway.

Closing the door soundly, she set the latch and walked over to the desk, lit up by the fire. Fumbling with the Stark seal, she cracked the letter open and unfolded it, starting to read...

_Dear Sansa,_

_It's bloody cold, as you well know, I'm sure it's even worse at Winterfell. The men and I only stop to eat and bed down, the storms are rising stronger, but as we get further out of the North, they seem to have settled down. Still damn cold though._

_I want to get this little adventure over with, I don't like leaving you there by yourself. Even with Tormund watching over you. Something is sitting in my gut the wrong way when I think about it. Please, for my sanity, please stay out of trouble, don't venture away from Winterfell too often. We still have enemies. Enemies that would love to have Sansa Stark in their grasp. And I don't want to offend this Dragon Queen by leaving her to come to you. I'll choose you every time._

_Davos is giving me sound advice on how to deal with this Targaryen woman. I'm not exactly a talker, I wish he'd do it all for me, but that's not very 'Kingly' is it? When I wanted to say that to Davos, your voice flitted through my head that that was not the noble thing to do to this Dragon Queen._

_I wish I was there, talking with you, sitting with you, being with you.._

_As you well know, I can't express what I'm thinking at this exact moment, not in this note anyway._

_I hope you are faring well my lady, please write me promptly when you get this, I need to hear from you._

_Love,_

_Jon Snow._

Sansa felt her hands tremble as she reread the note over and over again. She wanted to see him, to touch him. Clenching her eyes shut tightly, she imaged his face, his hands, his...body as he made love to her soundly in the dead of night. She saw his pleasured face as he released, his grunt of passion ripping through the air, making her end crash over her in the process.

She needed him, he kept her grounded, kept her from going to that dark place she found herself in more often than not. Especially since he was gone now.

Folding the note, she looked around at where she could put it. She was afraid a servant would come in and find it, even though it said nothing of great immodesty, she didn't want others reading something so private.

Opening one of the drawers, she shoved it towards the back, putting another ledger on top of it, deciding this would be the spot for the letters. The servants didn't tend to scour too much into the dressers and desks, and if she found out they had, well, she knew she had an enemy in Winterfell.

Ghost could take care of them then.

Or her knife.

Sighing soundly, she padded back over to the bed and laid down, her thoughts solely on Jon.

He would be to Dragonstone in a short amount of time. But, the only thing Sansa felt was dread. How would he take to this Dragon woman?

Sansa had never asked Jon why he was attracted to her. What exactly _drew_ him to her? She had heard the stories about his wildling lover, Ygritte. She was _nothing_ like that woman, she wasn't skilled in battle, she wasn't good at archery, she didn't have a super sharp tongue.

That wasn't Sansa. That wasn't how she was raised.

She wished it was, but that wasn't what she was interested in.

Not like Arya.

Gritting her teeth together, she shut her eyes, feeling the same dread pull at her heart strings.

She wasn't like this Targaryen woman.

She had risen from nothing.

From a beggar Queen...

To the rightful Queen of the seven kingdoms, with a whole backing of dragons, khalasar, second sons, Tyrells, Martells, and Unsullied at her side.

Tears hit Sansa's eyes, self-loathing fluttering up within her.

Jon deserved a strong woman, not a broken one.

A sob cut through the air, and Sansa pulled into herself, feeling more alone than she ever did in her life.

She needed to let Jon go.

She wanted him to be happy.

And she really wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be happy with her.

Plus, he was her _half-brother._

They could never be anything.

Ever.

The truth crushed her, making her cry aloud into the night.

Sobs.

Sansa had her face shoved into the crook of her elbow when she felt the nudge on her hand.

Looking down at Ghost sadly, she saw his own red eyes flooded with worry towards her.

Touching him gently, she envisioned Jon, which broke her down even more.

She _loved_ him.

She loved him more than she ever loved anybody.

Closing her eyes, she envisioned a more peaceful place, a peaceful time, and she thought of Jon, drawing him there with her.

She lulled herself to sleep with these images.

 

 

A shorter chapter, but I wanted to focus on Sansa's pain.

Leave me a comment!

Love,

Heather. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We can feel each other.

Here's another chapter!

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, of course!

 

Jon and his company were just a day away from Dragonstone. They had boarded a boat two days back, and Jon hated it to the extreme.

The boat they had docked had come from Lord Manderly, having a small fleet of his own. As a _kind_ gesture, he let Jon and his party use them.

His _King._

Jon still felt strange calling himself such a word. He still felt like he had robbed Sansa of the title as Queen.

She deserved it.

She deserved so much.

Closing his eyes, he thought of the red-haired woman he left back in Winterfell.

As each day passed, he became more and more uneasy about leaving her there by herself.

Something felt off to him.

Sighing heavily once more, he looked out over the stormy seas, wanting her here beside him.

“Your Grace.” A voice called him, making Jon jump a little bit.

Ser Davos.

“Beggin your pardon, sire. I did not mean to frighten you.” Davos said, bowing lightly.

“Davos. Seven save me, if you call me that one more time, I’ll let Ghost have a go at you when we get back to Winterfell.”

It was meant as a joke, but Jon noticed Davos’s face whiten immensely.

Smirking, he turned back to the ocean, enjoying the view.

“Jon. You have a letter. No doubt from Winterfell.” Davos mumbled, extending the note to him.

Jon’s heart started to hammer in his chest as he looked down at the elegant lettering on the opening of the paper.

_Sansa._

It was no doubt from her. No one he knew had such pretty pen-man ship.

“Thank you, Ser Davos.” Jon said, waving his hand in dismissal of the man.

A low bow later, and Davos took his leave, smirking as he walked away.

 

When the man had walked away and disappeared, Jon ripped the letter open, unfolding the scroll, his eyes bouncing off the wording, his heart hammering against his breast bone.

_Jon,_

_I’m glad you wrote me, I was going insane with the waiting. We both know I’m not so great at that little concept._

_I’m glad you’re faring well, and taking Ser Davos’s opinions. He seems like a well-organized man. And honorable. I thought the last one had been dispelled from the world when father lost his head. It’s nice to know I may have been wrong._

_Please, listen to him._

_Oh, and Tormund does his job. Maybe too well. He follows me everywhere now. Not to the hot springs, or to the Godswood, I think he knows when I go to the woods that I need to be alone. He does stay within distance though. You can’t miss him, he’s the burly red-haired giant standing amidst the trees._

_Brienne still has yet to return._

_I did get a raven from her though. She is a few days out, which means I’ll have two, no, three beings breathing down my neck, if you count Ghost. Who is always beside me as well._

_He’s a great comfort though. I feel…I feel like you’re here when he’s around. Like, he’s your eyes._

_Remember what I told you Jon. If the Dragon Queen were to request marriage, as there’s no other way around offending her, you must except it. I know you don’t wish it. But, it’s the best course in the long run, it would spare the North unnecessary chaos. We cannot live through another war. Especially with one as powerful as her._

Jon stopped reading at the end of that line, crunching up the paper in his hand.

Had she waited to tell him that when he was gone?

He felt slightly set up.

Gritting his teeth together, he continued, feeling a lump in his throat.

_Please, don’t hate me, if you decide to read this note further, Jon._

_I…you know how I feel. And as I write these words to you, I have tears pouring down my cheeks. But Jon, we can never be._

Jon did stop reading at that, setting his forehead in his hands to take a deep, even breath.

Why was she doing this?

_Why?_

She was shoving him away with both hands, and he didn’t understand it, not one bit.

Deciding to tear the wound open with one pull, Jon decided to read the remainder of the note.

_I dream of you. I feel you here with me, every second of every day. But, why feel this way, if in the end, we can’t be with each other?_

_The pain in my heart is so great, I feel it might suffocate me from its sheer force._

_Please, if it comes down between me and her._

_For the North, for your kingdom, for me, pick her…_

_Love,_

_Sansa._

Jon felt his eyes well up with tears, but he did not let them fall.

Damn woman.

She knew if she had said these words to him while he was leaving, he would fight her on it.

Why would she send this? To destroy him? To make him hate her?

Well, it was too bad, because that would _not_ happen. Jon wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

He wasn’t letting go easily either. Not even for a beautiful Dragon Queen.

Folding the letter up, he stuffed it in his tunic, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Jon plopped himself at his desk, slapping down a piece of parchment, putting quill to paper. Dipping the ink in quickly, he messily scrawled out a sentence on the dirtied paper.

_The wolf may die, but the pack survives. Sansa, wait for me. I choose you every time._

_Jon._

 

Jon wasn’t stupid, he knew what Sansa was doing when she sent that note to him. She wanted him to let _her_ go.

Because she loved him.

And he loved her.

She was his.

And he, hers.

As he laid under his covers, he thought of her beautiful hair blowing about her face when they stood on the battlements, looking out over the snow.

He envisioned her sweat glistened skin as she rode him into the mattress.

He thought of the taste of her cunt, sweetened with all the fruit she ate.

Jon’s breathing escalated, and he moved his hand down to grip his hardened appendage in his right hand.

He saw her face, and her beautiful backside as he took her from behind.

Her twinkling laugh that she let loose, not often enough for his liking, hit his ears.

Groaning loudly, Jon saw her sweet breasts shoved into his chest, her release crashing over her as she whimpered his name into the night air in his chambers.

Gods above, even envisioning her naked was wonderful.

It didn’t take long. It never did when he thought of her.

When he came, he called out for her, her blue eyes flashing before his brown ones when he let his load loose.

Sitting up quickly, he looked around the room for her.

Gods, it was if she was in the room with him at that moment.

Jon stood up, cleaning himself up, looking out the small window to the ocean. It was a clear night, the moon glinting off the water, beckoning Jon to get a closer look.

As he stood staring at the water, he closed his eyes and thought of Sansa.

 

Sansa laid in her bed, her eyes closed when she felt the slight buzzing in her mind. Snapping her eyes open, she sat herself up and looked around the room, as if she thought she’d find Jon.

She _felt_ him though, there with her.

Looking at Ghost, she noticed his head was up and he was sniffing the air around him.

Ghost sensed him to.

Sansa sat further up, now placing herself on the edge of the bed, blue eyes shut.

“Jon.” She whispered.

 

The man himself was saying her name at that exact moment, and the next thing he knew, he heard her voice in his mind.

“Sansa.” He said again, feeling the buzzing in his ears.

“Jon.”

“Sansa!” He called in his mind, lunging for her voice again, wanting her to repeat his name.

“J-Jon. Can you hear me?” She asked in his mind.

“Yes! I can..I ca-..”

 

Sansa shook her head, not able to hear the rest of his sentence.

They could hear each other, _feel_ each other.

Jon snapped his eyes open, stepping away from the railing that led to the water below.

They had heard each other, there was no doubt about it.

But, why?

And, how?

 

 

Okay ya’ll, another short chapter. From now on though, the chapters will be longer than the other’s. I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know how you’re liking it so far.

Next chapter: Jon docks in Dragonstone, talks to Dany and meets…someone he hasn’t seen in a long time.

Love,

Heather.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Dany.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me!

 

Jon stood on the beach, staring at the place called…

Dragonstone.

It was a stone castle, with multiple layers of Dragon heads stacked on top of each high pillar. It was very eerie actually, not a very homely place. Winterfell itself looked dreary in Winter, but in Spring it was absolutely beautiful, with the high blue skies and blooming flowers around the Wolfswood. 

At this location, though, Jon was pretty sure that no matter the season, Dragonstone always looked morbid and unwelcoming.

“Your Grace, is everything alright?” Ser Davos asked, helping the soldiers pull the rowboats ashore.

Jon hastily nodded his head, seeing some people descending the stairs.

They were Dothraki soldiers, and Jon started to grow uncomfortable. Fondling the hilt of his own sword, he took a deep breath.

He didn’t see him, probably because the man was no known for his height, but when the soldiers finally cleared the last step and now started to walk upon the beach, Jon felt a rush of relief.

He knew _somebody_ here.

Tyrion Lannister.

The small man was to Jon in a few strides, his blue eyes surveying the younger man.

Ser Davos though was quick, clearing his throat.

“You step to a King my Lord, where are your manners?” Davos asked the smaller man, agitation lacing his tone.

“My strongest apologies, Ser Davos. I was just reminiscing to where I had last seen Jon Snow.” With a low bow, he rose his head up, smiling at Davos this time.

“No need for such formalities, Ser Davos.” Jon said to his advisor.

At that, Jon and Tyrion pushed their hands to each other, clutching fingers in a firm handshake.

“Nice to see you.” Tyrion said, “It’s good to see a familiar face.”

Jon nodded and smiled.

 

They began to walk towards the looming structure, conversing about all their many adventures, when Jon stopped at the sentence that fell from the smaller man’s mouth.

“How is my wife?”

Stopping his feet, Jon looked down at him, raising a brow.

“Wife, my lord?”

Tyrion smiled and nodded.

“Sansa. My dear wife. How I miss her.”

Jon felt his jaw clench as he now _glared_ down at the little Lannister.

“My _sister_ resides in Winterfell. Where she will stay. She was married to Ramsay Bolton.” Jon grit out to the man. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Davos fidget in his spot.

“I see.” Tyrion said, “So the rumors were true?”

Jon nodded.

The expression that crossed Tyrion’s face made Jon’s fingers clench and unclench with irritation.

“How is she? I’ve heard horrid things of Ramsay Bolton. Did he-Did he…hurt her?” Tyrion asked, in a low voice.

Jon only stared at him though.

“What do you think, _my Lord?_ ” Jon snapped, wanting to throttle the little man.

Tyrion raised his hands in defense, his face flushing at the mans obvious anger.

“My apologies, your Grace.” Tyrion said, lowering his head in respect to Jon.

Sighing, Jon knew he was overreacting, backtracking, he started once more, “Please, I took no offense, my sister, she’s just been through so much. Some of it…from _your_ family, my Lord.”

Tyrion nodded, starting to walk again, “I know. I know of the horrors my father inflicted upon your family. And my _hideous_ nephew. Thank the Gods they’re both dead now.”

Jon nodded.

“It is true that we were married, but, it was not consummated. Sansa was too young for such things. I would not force that upon her. Or any woman.” Tyrion finished.

Jon felt the same anger course through him.

“Aye. I’m glad you didn’t force yourself upon her either my Lord. For if you had, I’d be talking to a dead man right now.” Jon said to him, giving no hint of amusement.

Tyrion smiled, “It would be what I would have deserved, your Grace.”

 

Jon was brought into a space that held a large table, pieces of a life-sized map set up to give the impression of a certain house.

“Jon Snow.” A womanly voice cut out.

The young man turned and saw a woman with white hair and a small build step out of the corner of the room.

Jon bowed low, showing respect for the Dragon Queen.

“Your Grace.” He mumbled, seeing her shift her fingers, signaling him to stand.

“I’ve heard stories of you, Jon Snow.” Daenerys started, “Very…strange stories, truth be told.”

Jon sighed, and nodded, it was obvious his come back from the dead ordeal had reached the woman.

“Yes, I did return from the dead. I-It’s something I can’t explain, unfortunately.” Jon answered her, watching as the soldiers left the room to him and her.

“I’m sure it would be difficult for anyone to explain.” Daenerys said back to him, giving him a timid smile.

Jon himself, thought she was very attractive, a rare, foreign beauty. But, honestly, she was nothing compared to Sansa.

Sansa was a winter rose with red hair that glowed in the firelight, her blue eyes almost like ice, but not quite. They weren’t _cold_ like ice.

Daenerys was a small build, her tanned skin glowing in the lamp light. Sansa was pale, her skin almost translucent, but unblemished and the softest he had ever felt.

There was really no competition.

She was desirable, but not to him. He had always preferred red-headed women, and this Dragon Queen was no exception.

“Well, your Grace, are you hungry?”

 

As he, Davos, Tyrion and Daenerys ate, he could feel her eyes on him. It made him slightly uncomfortable, he had barely spoken a few words to her, and it was already awkward being around her.

“How were your travels, your Grace?” Tyrion asked him, smiling lightly.

“Uneventful, my Lord.” Jon answered, taking a bite out of his duck. Which was overcooked.

He was being childish, he knew that. But, he did not want to be here. All he wanted to do was grab the Dragonglass and head back to Winterfell.

But, he couldn’t.

“We got the letter you sent, your Grace.” Jon started, setting his fork down, looking at the white-haired woman now.

She nodded, beckoning for him to continue.

“Us as a realm, broken and divided we may be, but, we all face a common foe.” Jon started, feeling all the eyes in the room on him.

“The others.” Jon finished, seeing no change in her facial expression.

Daenerys smiled, setting her cup of wine down, her eyes trailing over his features.

“Yes. I’ve heard of these…ghosts, ghouls?”

A little snicker went about the room, the guards chuckling.

Tyrion though, looked uncomfortable.

“Your Grace, the King in the North has come and told you the truth. It would be most…disrespectful to laugh at him.”

Jon felt a tick in his cheek at the childish behavior she was eliciting. She hadn’t even heard him out yet.

“I apologize to you, Jon Snow.” The Queen said to him, but Jon could still see the humor on her features.

“What Tyrion says is true, your _Grace_.” Jon all but snapped at her.

Silence.

Daenerys nodded, pushing her hands into her lap, continuing her stare down of him.

“How do I know what you say is true? I’ve sailed a long way to conquer my throne. And now, I have the King of Winterfell come to me and tell me there is a bigger threat than that of the pretender, Cersei Lannister.”

Jon nodded.

“A much bigger threat,” he verified.

“Yes, and how do I know what you say is true?” She asked him again.

 Davos cleared his throat, looking at Jon before he started to talk.

“The King, your Grace, has had the kiss of death, and been revived. He was an honorable Lord Commander, and a fierce warrior in the fight for Winterfell. I have not known him for _years,_ but I know him enough to know that what he says is true. I was at the wall for a short period of time, and I’ve been around a red-priestess long enough to really _know_ that there are things beyond our comprehension.”

At the stop of his talk, Daenerys only arched a brow higher now.

“I hear what you say, my Lord.” She said, nodding at Davos, “But, I have many questions for this man.”

Silence.

“For instance, why was he struck down? Why did his _own men_ kill him?”

Tyrion cleared his throat.

Jon stood up on his feet, fully aggravated at this point.

“I ask for your leave, Dragon Queen.” Jon started, noticing the unsullied men move their faces to him.

Dany smirked.

“Do I offend you, Jon Snow?”

“I do not take offense, but I do not have time to waste on banter about what happened with my men at Castle Black, they turned on me because I gathered Wildlings together, to help me fight the others. But, you’ve been told this. You just needed me to get you to believe it. I do not have the time, unfortunately.” Jon finished, bowing to her, then turning his back, signaling Davos to follow.

 

 

After Jon left, Tyrion turned to his Queen, sighing heavily.

“Well, that was disrespectful of him.” Dany said, folding her palms flat on the table.

Tyrion turned to the Unsullied, “Leave us.”

They hesitated for a moment, but Dany nodded, signaling their leave was alright.

Tyrion was angry at her. She was a wonderful Queen, but she needed to contain her impertinence sometimes, demeaning her Lords would get her nowhere.

“You owe him an apology.” Tyrion said to her, watching her facial expression turn to outrage.

“I will give him no such thing. He is the one who _stormed_ out of here. I was only asking him questions.”

“Jon Snow wouldn’t lie about stuff like that, and you were asking in a patronizing manner.” Tyrion started, plucking up his glass to take a long swig of wine.

“It’s been years since you’ve seen him, how do you know something like that?” Dany questioned him, fiddling her fingers in agitation.

“He’s a lot like his father. Eddard Stark was an honorable man. Why would Jon Snow lie about such things?” Tyrion questioned her.

Silence.

“I’ve been to the wall.” Tyrion said, facing her head on now, “I’ve heard many stories about the Others, and I believe him.”

Dany stared down at him, sighing.

“I wasn’t meaning to be patronizing, there’s something about him, something…familiar that I can’t shake.”

Tyrion sat back down, playing with the fork on his plate.

“Well, like it or not, you need to apologize, or he’ll be gone by morning.”

 

Jon was storming through the hall, getting to his chamber door, flinging it open.

The nerve of that woman.

How dare she treat him like a child.

Davos wasn’t far behind him, waiting for the door to shut before he started talking sense to his King.

“Jon. Y-Your Grace…”

“Davos!” Jon snapped.

“Jon. I apologize.”

Silence.

“You mustn’t leave, your Grace. I don’t think the Que-.”

Jon turned on him, fists clenched, “She is _not_ my Queen.”

“Keep your voice low Jon, you do not want others to hear that. They’ll take it as a threat.” Davos said to him, trying to calm the younger man.

Jon took deep breaths, calming his temper down, thinking of Sansa and what she would do.

She wouldn’t leave, she would stay and try again with the Dragon woman.

Sighing, Jon stared out the window, watching the waves crash upon the shore.

“I won’t leave.” He finally said, “Tomorrow, I’ll try again with her. But, one more patronizing comment, or question from her, we leave first light the next day, understood?”

Davos nodded, glad that Jon decided to think with a level head, instead with his anger.

 

Jon had sent Davos to tell Tyrion that they were not leaving. He did not want the _Queen_ showing up at his door giving him a fake apology that her counselor told her to beseech to him.

He honestly didn’t want any apology at all.

He just wanted to leave, he felt like he was being played right into her hands, just for the North.

Jon was very aware the only thing this Daenerys Targaryen wanted was the Iron Throne. All _he_ wanted was to go home and stay there.

Laying his head down on the pillow was a welcome feeling, his mind drifting fully to Sansa now, wondering what she was doing.

If she was sleeping.

Their connection, or whatever it was, had left him reeling the other night.

How had that happened?

It was true that when he slept, he sometimes felt himself warg into Ghost.

Sitting up quickly, he threw his covers off his legs.

Ghost!

It was because of Ghost that they could speak to each other. She had a connection with Ghost now, and he had had one with him for a long time, since he was a pup.

Would it happen again if he concentrated?

Gods above, he _needed_ to hear her voice once more, even if it was only for a _second._

Closing his eyes, he smelled the salt water drift through his nostrils, but he thought of her as he centered his thoughts….

_“Sansa.”_

 

Sansa was stroking Ghost’s ear when she heard the voice, her empty cup of ale clattering to the floor.

_“Sansa…”_

It was Jon! It was his voice again.

“Jon!” She echoed back, in her mind of course.

_“S-Sansa? Can you hear me?”_

Sansa looked down at Ghost, who was staring into her eyes, his red irises unblinking.

So, it was Ghost that connected them to each other.

Sansa shut her eyes, feeling her tears pool.

“Yes, I can hear you.”

_“It’s Ghost, he’s the reason we can hear each other. It’s the bond that we both have with him. And with one another that makes this possible.”_

“I know, I just figured it out. I've been curious about it.” Sansa responded.

Silence.

”Jon. Jon!”

Silence.

_“I’m here, sweet girl.”_

Sansa reached out to grip the table, biting her lip harder, wanting to cry.

“How are things coming with the Dragon Queen?” She asked.

_“Not pleasant. She’s…a very patronizing person. For a Queen who wants support so badly, she doesn’t do much to flatter someone.”_

Sansa giggled, hearing the aggravation in his words.

“Don’t offend her, Jon.” She scolded.

A whine drew her attention downward, and Ghost was fidgeting, his eyes still unblinking.

“Jon. Ghost is bothered, we have to…have to go. Maybe as we do this more, he’ll get more and more used to it.”

_“Goodnight sweet girl, my love.”_

Then, his voice wavered and completely faded.

Sansa sobbed, but didn’t let her tears flow, at least she got to hear him.

That is all she could have asked for.

 

Jon grew depressed after the connection was cut, he wanted to hear more of her voice, but he didn’t want Ghost uncomfortable, or hurt.

Looking out over the waves, he envisioned her soft curves and knew…

He was lost.

There was no way he could even _think_ about being with anybody else.

They were meant to be with one another.

And that, would never change.

 

 

 

A big longer, I hope you guys enjoyed!

Comment and leave Kudos if you’d like!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few guest appearances. Jon and Dany talk, and some opinions are made...

Another chapter, I hope you enjoy!

 

Jon spent weeks at Dragonstone, listening to the many stories of the Dragon Queen that conquered a hundred cities to get where she was now.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but that is definitely what it seemed like.

Jon had come to realize that the woman-Daenerys-was very full of herself. Maybe at one point in her life she had been humbled, because of all the pain in her life, but, all he saw was a person who conquered and did what she thought was right.

He had learned from that mistake.

She was alright though, after their quarrel the first night he met with her, she had apologized, albeit, rather badly, but she had still apologized.

He missed Sansa.

He thought of her everyday, and wondered how she was doing.

Tormund kept him up to date on the workings of Winterfell, keeping his eye on Sansa, and everybody else, making sure nothing suspicious was happening.

Shaking his head of his thoughts, his door was promptly being banged on. Wondering what the hurry was, he opened the door to find Davos, out of breath, panting.

"Davos. What in the world?" Jon asked him, seeing the mans eyes dart from side to side.

"Your Grace, begging a thousand pardons, but, I needed to tell you something. A person...just came ashore here, and before you looked out your window and saw him, I wanted to...soften the blow."

Jon's eyes widened, his patience waning. "What the hell is going on?" He asked, a little bubble of fear starting to climb up his throat.

Silence.

Then, Davos took a big breath...

"It's Theon Greyjoy."

That's all Jon needed to hear.

Shoving past Davos, he started to walk quickly down the hallway, hearing his advisor beg him to be reasonable.

No, reason had gone out the window when that traitorous prick had taken over his home.

  
Tyrion Lannister was standing at the shore's edge, his eyes darting between Dragonstone and the beach.

Would he realize it?

Gods, he hoped not.

There would be trouble if so.

"To shore!" A voice caught his attention, and he looked at the coming row boat, seeing Theon Greyjoy at the forefront, helping paddle.

Tyrion then heard a pounding on the sand and his head whipped to the side to see the King in the North, eyes ablaze with anger, his fists clenched, darting to the waves.

And Theon Greyjoy saw him to.

Closing his eyes, he leapt to the sand, awaiting his fate.

He felt the fist before he saw it fly at his face.

Theon was on the beach now, holding his swollen cheek, looking up at Jon, flinching roughly as the man leaned down to hit him again.

"Your Grace!" Davos called, now running to him, "Please. This is not a good idea!"

Tyrion sighed, walking over to Jon, grabbing his sleeve before his fist shot out to punch Theon again.

"He is right Jon, if the Queen sees this, she'll put you under guard."

Jon's fist was trembling, watching as Theon tried his hardest to get away from him. Taking a deep breath in, Jon remembered back to what Sansa had told him.

Theon had saved her.

Releasing his tunic, Jon placed himself in Theon's space.

"You have been saved by Sansa's grace alone. I don't bloody care if that Dragon Queen had kept fifty guards at my door. But, if I ever, _ever_ see you in the North, your ass is mine. Do you understand?"

Theon nodded numbly, shaking slightly.

Jon just stared, knowing that Sansa would have stopped him as well, scolding him harshly, but he couldn't help but confront the fucker.

Davos and Tyrion said nothing as Jon turned and walked back up to Dragonstone, clenching and unclenching his fists.

 

Damn it all!

Jon had tried his hardest not to hit the man, but seeing his face, and seeing him take over Winterfell, putting his brother's under guard, ultimately leading to their disappearances's and Rickon's death threw him into hysterics.

He wanted to leave this place, he was so tired of the dreariness and the memories it dredged up within him.

When he entered his quarters, he started to rummage through his things, placing them into his travel bag.

Davos entered then.

"Your Grace?" He asked, confused at what Jon was doing.

Silence.

Davos sighed, closing the door.

"Jon. I know you're upset. But, leaving isn't going to do anything but anger the Dragon Queen."

Looking to his adviser, Jon only shrugged.

"She asked me to come and speak to her about the North. I have done that. Theon has gotten back, they can start their attack on Kingslanding, but it's not a fight I want to be dragged into. I'm not kneeling for her, I'm backing her claim for the throne, but she won't get the North."

"What if she demands the North?" Davos asked, getting Jon's attention now.

Jon stopped then, closing his eyes.

Silence.

"Someone's always demanding something, and it's never for the good of the person they're demanding it from." He snapped, gripping his clothes and throwing them at the offending wall.

Davos jumped a little bit, not ready for that reaction from the usually stoic man.

"I'm so _fucking_ tired of it."

Silence.

"Davos." Jon started, and the older man kept his eyes trained on him.

"I will talk to this Dragon Queen tonight, and I'm going to tell her that we set sail for Winterfell tomorrow. I've been away from my home, my kingdom for near a month and a half. The Great War comes, and it comes for all of us. If she doesn't understand this by now, then we'll get our backing some other way."

 

Dinner came and went, Jon staying behind, wanting to speak to Daenerys in private.

It was private enough, one unsullied officer had stayed behind, just to be sure that Jon didn't do anything against his Queen.

As the doors shut, Jon got a weird sense of...something.

The regal Queen stayed in her chair, giving Jon a once over, realizing that he was quite...attractive. Well, in a brooding, moody sort of way.

Weren't those men the best lovers though?

 

"Your Grace? You wanted to speak with me?" Dany questioned him, tossing her hand out, inviting him to the chair beside her.

"Yes." Jon said, taking the chair, nudging it a little away from her, not liking that...odd look in her eyes.

Leaning forward, she clutched her goblet of wine, bringing it to her lips, arching an eyebrow.

"Well? What is it?"

Jon cleared his throat, pushing his goblet away, wanting a clear head when he said this.

"I want to take my leave from here."

Dany felt a pang deep in her stomach, not sure why though.

"Hm." She started, placing her goblet down now, "And, why would that be?"

"I've been here for over a month now, I have my own Kingdom to see to, and we just came back together. We've discussed matters, you've told me your terms, and I've told you mine. I don't know what else you need me for." Jon finished, honestly confused as to why she was still keeping him here.

"Jon." She began, "May I call you Jon?"

He nodded, growing weary of the conversation already.

"We have discussed terms, but we have come to an agreement on nothing. I've come to Westeros to claim the entirety of its Kingdom, and I've come to... five now, since the Greyjoys asked for their independence as well. But, they offered their fleets, and their backing to me."

"I see, but they aren't bending their knee to you."

Dany nodded, standing now, bringing her hands together, no doubt about to go into a long rambling.

"Yes, but they are fighting for me. They've given me their men, their ships. And you've...you've given me nothing but Northern stories." She finished, looking at him once again.

Silence.

Jon was tired of beating around the bush here.

"What is it that you want?" He questioned, his voice clipped with annoyance.

She smiled, "Ah, I'm glad we can just cut to the chase."

Silence.

"I want the North."

Jon shook his head, his anger coming to the forefront now.

"I cannot give it to you. If you're trying to con me into it, you will be sadly let down with the results."

Dany only arched a brow, but he could tell that he had struck a nerve within her.

"Now, King Jon, no need to be rude." She said, almost as if she were scolding her child.

"I'm not. But, this whole time I've been here, I've heard your many stories, your victories, triumphs, and they've done nothing to sway my decision to bend the knee to you. I cannot do that to my Kingdom, they have suffered such atrocities from the South."

"I understand that," She said to him, "But, I'm not the people who reside in the South. I am different, I do not relish in chaos as they do."

Jon begged to differ.

"If you don't bend the knee to me, or offer me something I can use, then we have not come to an agreement, and I cannot let you leave." She said, meaning to put an end to this uncomfortable conversation.

"So, I'm your captive? Just because I won't agree to your terms?" Jon asked, drumming his fingers on the table now.

"No. Just my guest who still needs to make up his mind about what is best for his Kingdom."

Oh, so that's what she thought this was?

"I am thinking about what's best for my Kingdom. You are the one who cannot open her eyes to the bigger threat, and that's the one beyond the wall, who marches closer and closer to Westeros everyday." He snapped, losing the last vestiges of his patience.

The officer placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but the Dragon Queen's hand stopped him.

"No need for that." She said, her gaze never leaving Jon.

Silence.

"Hm, perhaps you are right." She said to him, "I have called you here, away from your people, who have suffered under the tyrannical rule of the Lannisters."

Jon was listening for any loopholes to what she was saying, there was always one if you listened close enough.

"I will let you leave." She said, and Jon's heart swelled with...pure joy. Alas, it only lasted for a split second.

"But." She started again, lowering herself to her chair once more.

Raising a brow, he urged her to continue.

"I expect something from you. More than what you're giving me. An eye for an eye, if you will."

She took a breath, but continued.

"My hand told me that he was married to your sister. But, they never consummated their nuptuals."

Then, the sinking feeling came once more, Jon's anger now climbing even higher.

"You will be called here again, before we take King's Landing, and I expect you to bring your sister."

Jon glared at her, rising up from his chair.

"I will do no such thing. I will not ask my sister to be with a man she does not choose. And for you of all women to ask something so...vile, is a huge part of why I'm not giving you the North. You can cut me down where I stand, but I will not throw my sister back into the lion's den."

Dany just stared at him, wanting to throttle him herself.

Jon himself knew though, he knew he had to give her something.

"I will help you take King's Landing. If you help me with the threat beyond the wall. An eye for an eye, as you said. But, I must go home and make preparations."

Daenerys then smiled, extending her hand to him.

"I can take that." She said, "But, I will need your backing when I take the throne, you won't have to bend the knee."

Jon glowered at her, but nodded, taking her hand, shaking it, then letting it go.

"I leave tomorrow, early."

The Dragon Queen just nodded.

 

 

When Jon and Davos were on the ship, they kept their eyes on Dragonstone.

Jon broke the silence then.

"Fuck that woman."

Davos spluttered, looking at his sire.

"I take it you don't like her?" He asked, with humor.

Jon turned his withered glare to his adviser.

"She asked me to give Sansa to her, so Tyrion could remarry her. The audacity..."

Davos was surprised at that, after everything she told them about her brother, and how he was always trying to marry her off to the highest bidder, he was shocked that she would ask such a thing.

"Speaking of Lady Sansa, have you heard from her?" Davos asked, taking in the sea air, missing its thickness.

"Yes. I did not tell her however, that we were setting sail for Winterfell, I want it-" He cleared his throat, not looking at Davos, "I want it to be a surprise."

Then, it all came at Davos. He suddenly got it.

Looking around, he noticed none of the men were standing close to them. Reaching out to touch Jon's shoulder, he got his full attention.

"Your Grace, I think we need to discuss something."

Jon raised a brow, but nodded, and they descended to the private cabin below.

 

 

"What is it?" Jon asked, wondering if it was serious.

Davos didn't want to offend him, but knew it was something important, and if it turned out to be true, it would mean...

Many things for him and Lady Sansa.

"Your Grace, your father, Lord Stark was an honorable man."

Jon nodded, grabbing at an empty cup, filling it with ale. He also poured some for Davos, sensing the man's discomfort.

"I didn't know him, but I heard many stories about him. He was definitely...one of a kind."

Jon smiled, letting him continue.

"Well, before Robert's Rebellion started, his sister, Lyanna went missing. It was told that Rhaegar Targaryen had taken her. Kidnapped her."

Jon nodded, suspicious at where this was going.

"It was also said that Rhaegar raped her."

Silence.

"But sire, I met Rhaegar once before, and he was such a smart, gentle man. There is no way he raped your aunt."

Jon nodded, a knot forming in his stomach.

Davos now sat, taking a swig of his drink.

"A year after the war broke out, your father, Lord Stark came home with a babe. You."

Jon stared at him.

"You don't know who your mother was, aye?"

Nodding, Jon was piecing things together in his mind, obvious things that he didn't think to see.

"Robert Baratheon hated the Targaryens, mainly Rhaegar for kidnapping Lyanna, his promised. Stannis talked a lot about his brother, about his womanizing ways, and how he loved Lyanna Stark. But, Robert was anything but faithful."

Jon's fingers started to tremble.

"Can I speak freely, Your Grace?"

Jon nodded, his mouth all of a sudden dry.

"If you think I'm out of line, you may throw me overboard, but I must tell you this."

Silence, but Jon nodded, waiting...

"Jon, I think Lyanna Stark ran off with Rhaegar Targaryen, on her own volition, due to not wanting to marry Robert Baratheon. I also think that Eddard Stark found Lyanna Stark towards the end of the war, and she was already dying... After giving birth..."

Jon closed his eyes, waiting on the last of the sentence.

"To you..."

 

 

  
Oh my gosh!!!!!

Did you like it?

Review! Please?

Love,  
Heather.


End file.
